Perfect Crime?
by MJJ'slilgrl
Summary: Dodger is kidnapped in the middle of the night. All that's left is a note warning Fagin to not look for him. Who has Dodger? And why? REPOSTED!
1. Chapter 1

Hello, again, everyone! This is only my second story, so I still accept constructive criticism, and lots and lots of reviews! I base all my characters in all my "Oliver!" stories on the 1968 musical version.

Chapter 1:

Jack Dawkins, otherwise known as the Artful Dodger, casually strutted through the filthy, bustling London streets, unaware that he was being watched. The one watching him was not Bill Sikes, one of his accomplices, or Nancy, long-suffering girlfriend of afore mentioned Mr. Sikes, or even one of his many fellow pickpockets. No, this person, this... stranger, was completely different. He was a villain, always on the run. But not for the reasons you might expect. This man didn't do ordinary crimes like pick-pocketing or house-breaking; his line of work was much more sinister and a happy ending was never guaranteed.

His cold eyes never left Dodger's back as he carefully trailed him, weaving in and out of busy salesmen, shouting their wares and waving them high in the air for all to see. His mysterious appearance caused a few raised eyebrows, and a few mothers drew their children close to them as he stalked past. And right they were to do so. The man, however, paid them no mind, keeping his eyes on his goal in front of him. He was within touching distance of the boy now and had to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing him right then and there. '_No,_' he told himself, _'not yet. Not in the middle of the street.'_ He continued to follow Dodger, who had no idea of the intentions of the stranger behind him. The boy, although dressed like a little gentleman, was unmistakably a street urchin. Or, so the man hoped. A high-society young lad would never do.

An plan already forming in his dark mind, he drew back into the shadows as the boy ascended some rickety, wooden, uneven steps and ran across a poorly made bridge, only to rap twice on an ancient wooden door. Whispering some words that was hard for the man to distinguish, the door was opened and the boy entered. The man smiled eerily to himself. The boy lived here; it would be easy to enter, and be even easier to silence the boy...

Dodger, helping to lock the door, grinned at his young companion before ascending some more stairs, walking directly across the large, damp filthy room to his benefactor; a grubby old man in a dark green trenchcoat known as Fagin. The grin not leaving his face, Dodger emptied the contents of his oversized blue tailcoat on the table in front of him. Two wallets, three handkerchiefs, a snuffbox and two pocketwatches; Dodger had certainly done well this evening. The old man eyed the treasures greedily before praising his young ward. Dodger pulled out a small joint of ham from yet another one of his pockets and from under his top hat, a loaf of bread and proudly placed it on the table.

"Definitely been 'ard at work, ain't we Dodger?" smiled Fagin, as he snatched up the ham and sliced it with a sharp knife, before he placed it in a pan and held it over the fire that was crackling merrily. Dodger smiled again and took a place at the table where, as always, there was a card game going on.

Needless to say, the boys ate very well that night, thanks to Dodger. They actually went to bed with full stomachs, a rarity for them. Many of them had actually fallen asleep fully-clothed, not even bothering to take their shoes off, Dodger among them. It seemed that their full stomachs' made them heavier sleepers, for nobody awoke, or even stirred, when a loud creaking was heard outside the front door. The door was old; if someone wanted to break in, it wouldn't be hard. The handle rattled gently, the rattler not wanting to wake up the occupants inside. The sharp, unmistakable blade of a knife was slotted through the crack in the door, attempting to break the ancient lock. This was quite easily achieved and the door finally swung open on its rusty hinges. A tall, thin but well-built man stood in the doorway, the moonlight making only his silhouette visible. The house-breaker walked into the room, casting an eye at all the sleeping boys, looking for the one he saw earlier.

Spotting him at last, he silently strode over to the bed, keeping to the shadows. Dodger was asleep on his side, his back facing the stranger, who just stood there, watching him sleep. After hurriedly looking around him, the man moved to the end of the bed and placed a hastily-scribbled note at the foot. Returning to his previous position and knowing he had to be quick, the man bent down and wriggled one arm under Dodger's neck, ready to cover his mouth if needed, while his other arm snaked around the boy's waist. Taking a deep breath, he pulled, dragging Dodger off the bed.

Dodger's eyes shot open instantly, not registering what was happening in his half-asleep state. Had he fallen out of bed again? No, he couldn't have, because he didn't feel the hard, wooden floor beneath him. He then realised that not only was there a hand covering his mouth, but someone was holding him also. Panic set in and he started to struggle. The stranger wasn't expecting this, and almost lost his grip on Dodger, who was fighting to get the man's arm away from his mouth. Keeping his hand firmly in place, the man lowered his other arm, trapping Dodger's hands and lifting him off the ground. Dodger continued to fight the stranger, but to no avail. He carried the struggling boy over to the door, which had swung closed. Whilst he was busy hooking his foot in between the crack between the doorway and the door, Dodger finally managed to free his mouth and, after sucking in a deep breath of air, screamed at the top of his lungs,

"HEEELLLPP!"

Grabbing Dodger's chin, the man covered his mouth once again, before quickly sprinting across the bridge and down the stairs. Turning the corner, his kidnapper pulled out a large rag from his pocket and, fumbling with it, tied it one handed around Dodger's eyes, so the boy wouldn't be able to see anything. This took quite a bit of time, as Dodger was struggling all the while, making it difficult for the man to blindfold him. Eventually, the rag was affixed, and he started to drag Dodger away again.

"Who yelled? Come on, speak up!" yelled Fagin, angry at his sleep being disturbed. Dodger's cry had awoken the boys, but none of them knew who had made it. Fagin stumbled from his sleeping-place, eyeing the boys; some were trawling around the den, searching for the source of the cry, while the others were sitting up in their beds, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. "Is anybody 'urt? Is everyone 'ere?" There was a few murmurs that everybody was present and that nobody had been injured, until Charley Bates piped up.

"I can't see Dodge anywhere." Those words made Fagin stop what he was doing immediately.

"Search the den!" he ordered, ignoring the protests and complaints, telling them not to stop until he knew where Dodger was.

"'Ey, Fagin, look what I found," said Ace, another of his older boys. He was standing by Dodger's bed and holding a crumpled-up piece of paper. Fagin snatched it from his grasp, almost not wanting to look at it. What could it be? A note from Dodger? Impossible; he could barely write, he knew how to write his name and that was about it. He looked down at the paper, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw:

_'I have the kid. Don't try and look for him.' _Upon reading this, Fagin ran towards the small, grubby window and forced it open. Straining his eyes in the dark, he was quickly able to make out a shape. It was a man. A man dragging something - or someone - away. Squinting, he stuck his head out of the window and saw whatever the person was dragging had feet. Kicking, struggling feet. And he knew instantly that that man had kidnapped Dodger.

Ignoring the questions the boys fired at him like missiles, Fagin charged out of the slightly ajar door, across the bridge, down the stairs and was racing in the direction the man had went. But when he turned the corner, the street was empty.

"DODGER!" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth the maximise the sound. No answer. Fagin ran down the deserted street, darting down every single side alley he saw, but he found nothing and no-one. He decided to go back home; the boys would be able to help look for Dodger. He would ask Bill and Nancy, as well. He needed all the help he could get. Fagin vowed not to rest until he had found Dodger. But who would take him? And why?

xXxXxXxXxXx

Please review! You know you want to. The little voice is calling to you...


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the next part. Sorry to keep everybody waiting. I wrote this at college and I forgot to email it to myself before we broke up, lol. Enjoy!

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 2:

As Fagin raced back into the ancient warehouse, he was bombarded with questions by the boys. He found that they were so anxious to know what had happened; they wouldn't let him get a word in edgeways.

"Alright! SHUT UP!" he yelled and the room at last fell silent. "Do ya wanna know or don't ya?"

"We wanna know!" the boys cried. Fagin gathered them all together in a huddle.

"Dodger's been kidnapped," he told them solemnly. Gasps followed his sentence and Fagin quickly raised his hand for silence. "Someone took 'im and left a note on 'is bed. First thing tomorrow, I want you to all go out and start lookin' for 'im. Split up and search everywhere you can. We'll get Bill and Nancy to 'elp as much as they can, too. Now, get to bed, all of you!" he shouted this last part, some of the boys recoiling at his loud voice. "You got lots to do tomorrow!"

Anxious chatter arose as the boys did as Fagin told them and quickly jumped into their respective beds. Wondering who would kidnap Dodger and what motive they would have, they drifted into uneasy sleeps, one by one.

Fagin, however, did not go to sleep right away. He couldn't sleep even if he tried, anyway; he was far too worried about Dodger. Was he okay? Would he be able to escape his kidnapper? Fagin rubbed his goatee and he pondered the biggest question of all: why Dodger? Why was _he_ kidnapped? Fagin couldn't think of any reason at all why somebody would kidnap Dodger. He looked over at Dodger's empty bed. One of the boys had lit some candles and the fire was roaring in the fireplace. Dodger's beloved top hat was lying forlornly on the ground beside his bed. Fagin slowly walked over and picked it up. As he bent down, he saw marks on the floor. Leaning in closer, Fagin found out that they were scuff marks. Following them, he realised they lead right to the front door, then after that, they stopped. Sighing, the elderly man walked to his creaky bed in his den, clutching Dodger's hat in his gnarly hand. Still thinking about it, he eventually fell into a dreamless sleep.

~ x ~

Early the next morning, Fagin roused the boys earlier than he usually would have. Ignoring the ones who complained, he gathered them around the table and spread out a large piece of paper.

"Right, now, I saw the man run down this way, you see?" he pointed to the appropriate place on the hand drawn map. So, I want a couple of ya to go down that way today; I don't care which of ya does it, so long as it gets done, alright? Now, Charley, you go tell Bill and Nancy and start searchin' with them. If they can't look for 'im, go to The Three Cripples and start askin' around. The rest of ya; just split up and look wherever you can. If ya 'ave to ask someone, be subtle and don't give anything away. Understand?" His command was answered only by nods of the head. "Good! Get goin'!"

The boys were silent as they sprinted out of the front door. Only the thundering of their footsteps told Fagin that they were even going out. Fagin was going to look for Dodger, also. But he had planned to go later when some of the boys were back; if one of them had found him and was bringing him back home, how would they get inside if the house was empty?

Instead of sitting around and doing nothing, Fagin retrieved another piece of paper and a pen and started writing from memory what he had seen last night. If he could remember what the man looked like, it would be easier to find him. But still, Fagin was confident that one of the boys would find him soon.

~ x ~

Scurrying down the road, Charley kept his eyes on the house that belonged to Bill and Nancy. Wild thoughts were racing around in his head. Dodger, kidnapped? It couldn't be? But he himself had heard the scream. It had sounded like Dodger, but Charley hadn't given it much thought; he had been far too tired and he thought that Dodger was most likely playing a trick, something he often did.

As he knocked on their door, Charley wondered if they were still asleep. It was still quite early and he knew that Bill liked to sleep in. Pressing his ear up against the wood, he heard nothing, so he rapped on the door again and again.

"Alright! I'm comin', I'm comin'," a woman's voice called out irritably. The door swung open and there stood a very displeased Nancy. She was wearing her usual wine-red dress, her honey-coloured hair was pinned up at the back of her head and her deep brown eyes looked at Charley in annoyance. "What the 'ell you doin', bangin' on our door at this hour? Bill will 'ave your 'ead if you're not careful."

"I know it's early," Charley apologised. "But Fagin told me to come and get you and Bill right away."

"Why? What's 'appened?"

"It's Dodger; someone's taken 'im." Nancy's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"What?"

"We 'eard a scream last night, then when we checked the 'ouse, Dodge was gone. The door was open, and Fagin says 'e saw someone draggin' 'im away."

"'Old on one second," Nancy told him as she retreated back into her house. She quickly ran up the stairs and gently shook the still-sleeping Bill. "Bill, Bill wake up," she whispered. As Bill rolled over onto his back, his eyes flickered open and then closed again.

"Oh, what is it, Nance?" he asked, not bothering to move.

"Fagin want us to 'elp look for Dodger."

"The little runt run away, 'as 'e?" Bill couldn't believe Nancy had disturbed his morning sleep all because Fagin couldn't find Dodger.

"No! 'E's been kidnapped!" Nancy hoped Bill would understand this wasn't minor; Dodger could be in danger this very minute, and she wanted to help find him, to make sure he was safe. She remembered when Dodger first came to Fagin's gang; he was only six years old. In fact, she had been the one who had first saw him, sitting in the gutter...

_Nancy hurried down the streets, on an errand for Fagin. It was almost dark, and she wanted to be back before night fell, when something caught her eye. It was a young boy, sitting on the side of the street, looking utterly forlorn. In fact, he looked so pitiful that she felt compelled to stop and talk to him._

"'_Ello, there. What's your name, then?" she smiled, taking a seat next to him. The boy looked up at her with big, expressive hazel eyes. He was very small and was wearing only trousers that were too short, shoes, a shirt and a waistcoat and the boy kept shivering._

"_Jack Dawkins, at your service, milady," he grinned, taking a mock bow. Nancy grinned back him._

"_So, what you doin' out 'ere all on your own?" The smile dropped from Jack's face._

"_I – I ran away," he confessed. "From me old man. Right nasty piece of work, 'e is; always out drinkin' and when 'e's 'ome, 'e ain't no nicer than 'e was before. 'E always got madder after drinkin' and it always 'urt worse."_

"_Well, what about your mother?" Nancy asked him, feeling sorry for Jack._

"_Don't 'ave one. I think I did once, but I don't remember."_

"_So, you've been livin' on the streets?" The boy nodded. "For 'ow long?" he shrugged._

"_Don't know. Couple of days."_

"_What do you do for food?"_

"_I pinches it, of course." The smile started to return to Jack's face._

"_Are you good at stealin'?" Nancy asked, feeling that this boy might be a good new recruit for Fagin's gang. Jack looked at her indignantly._

"_Course I am! Can't you tell, since I ain't been caught, and I ain't never gonna get caught!"_

_Nancy smiled at him again. "Come with me. I know a nice old gentleman who will let you stay with 'im for nothin' .E'll give ya food, lodgin's and somewhere to sleep," she offers, standing and holding out her hand. Jack took it and together they walked back to Fagin's house._

Dodger fitted in right away with the boys at Fagin's. He was the most talented pickpocket there, no doubt about that, which ranked him up to Fagin's favourite.

Nancy smiled to herself at the memory, shook herself out of it, and continued trying to rouse Bill.

"Please, Bill. Someone's taken 'im!"

"Don't care," muttered Bill, rolling back over onto his stomach.

"If you won't 'elp look for 'im, we'll do it on our own!" Nancy snapped before grabbing her shawl and heading outside to join Charley. Together, they headed off towards The Three Cripples and started asking the locals if they had seen a young boy wearing a big blue coat. Nobody had. Defeated, they left the pub and started searching in the bushes at the back of it. They looked in barrels, under piles of rotten floorboards. Charley even submerged himself into the icy water of the river next to it and, holding on to the side as he couldn't swim, felt about for Dodger.

"Nothin'," he said miserably, clambering out and shivering, as Nancy wrapped her shawl around his shoulders. "That was pointless. Why would Dodge be in the river, anyway?" A horrible picture of Dodger being thrown into the river entered both of their minds at the same time. Their eyes met and they both acted in unison. Charley ran to the edge of the river and lowered himself down onto his stomach, while Nancy grabbed a nearby rope and fastened it securely around Charley's waist. She tied the other end to a wooden support keeping the bridge up as Charley dived under, fully submersing himself. This proved to be a waste of time, however, as Charley came back up empty handed. "Like I said – pointless," he repeated, climbing back out once again. "There was nothin' down there."

Nancy once again wrapped him in her shawl. It was almost midday, so they decided to and see Fagin to tell him what they had so far covered.

~ X ~

The man walked quickly towards his hideaway – an old, abandoned house that had been empty for years. It was nearly sunrise; he wanted to get there before it was daylight so that he could carry out the next part of his plan.

Dodger was still blindfolded and struggling in his grip. The man's arms began to ache from holding the boy for so long. If he stopped wriggling about, trying to get away, then it would be easier. He didn't dare adjust his grip, though; one of his hands was still covering Dodger's mouth, and his other arm was keeping Dodger's hands pinned to his sides. The man was wearing gloves, so it didn't matter to him if Dodger tried to lick or bite his hand. It wouldn't affect him.

Dodger was almost powerless; he could only kick his legs, and even though he kicked with all his might, it didn't do any good; the man was too strong. Never-the-less, Dodger continued to struggle with all his might, hoping somehow that the man would drop him and he would be able to get away.

As the man rushed up the walkway towards the front door, he tried to adjust his hold on the boy without him getting away or alerting anyone. Even though the streets were deserted, he didn't trust himself to remove his hand from the boy's mouth. Removing his arm from Dodger's waist, he hurriedly felt in his pocket for the key; a difficult job as Dodger was now fighting to get the man's arm away from his mouth. He quickly put the key in the lock, opened the door and stepped inside.

Dodger felt himself being thrown onto a hard surface. Reaching up, he managed to get the rag off his eyes and looked around. He was in a very small room, lit only by one dingy gas lamp. A man was standing over by the single, very grubby and grimy window, turned to the side so Dodger could only see his profile. He was tall; taller than Fagin and he was wearing a long, black trenchcoat that reached to the floor, the collar turned up so his mouth was hidden. He was also wearing a large black hat, the brim pulled down low over his eyes, so that his face was almost completely obscured.

"Oi! Who the blood 'ell are ya, and where the 'ell am I?" Dodger snapped, livid with rage.

In one quick movement, the man moved across the room, stopping about two feet away from Dodger.

"Children today; no manners at all. It's appalling," he said in a low, gravelly, dangerous voice. Dodger rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"If you please, sir, would you be so kind as to tell me what your name is and where I might be? Thank you ever so much," he replied mockingly.

Within seconds, the man was leaning close to Dodger's face, practically touching noses.

"Even worse than a child with no manners, is one with an attitude problem," he whispered sinisterly, his stale breath making Dodger involuntary gag. He soon got his bad temper back when his kidnapper moved away.

"Bloody 'ell! First, you accuse me of 'avin' no manners, then, when I try and use 'em, you accuse me of 'avin' a bloody attitude! Can't win with ya, can I?" Dodger was soon silenced when the man raised his hand...

~ X ~

There you go. Hope you enjoyed it! You know what to do if you want more; review, review, review.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey, everyone! I'm really sorry I didn't update this sooner, but I've been busy at college and had the dreaded writers block! (*shudders*) Anyway, I've just performed in my first college play! I was Louise in "Road" by Jim Cartwright, and now we're rehearsing for our next play!

Anyway, enough about me. On with the story!

Disclaimer: I am not Charles Dickens or Lionel Bart. If I was, I think I'd know by now. All I own is the plot.

Chapter 3.

Nancy and Charley were silent as they both walked back to Fagin's. It seemed inappropriate to talk when Dodger's life could be in danger this very moment. Both were hoping that he would be at Fagin's when they arrived, safe and sound, laughing and joking. But they knew in their hearts he wouldn't be. How could he? All of the boys were looking for him, but when there was so little to go on, where did you start?

As Charley banged on the door, he looked up at Nancy, who put her arm protectively around him. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

"He'll be alright," she whispered, rubbing him arm comfortingly. Charley just smiled weakly at her, then called the password through the door and waited for Fagin to unlock it. The door opened and Fagin appeared in the crack. He eyed Charley and Nancy, and then he peered behind them, obviously looking to see if they had Dodger with them.

"We don't 'ave 'im, Fagin," Nancy quietly told him. Sighing, the elderly man stepped aside and let them inside.

"Tell me what ya've covered so far," Fagin said briskly, taking a seat at the wooden table and inviting them to do the same. Sitting down, Nancy told him about how they went to The Three Cripples and how they searched all around that area, even in the river. Throughout the one-sided conversation, Fagin kept getting up and answering the door to more of his boys, also telling him what they had covered.

By late afternoon, all of the boys were back in their hideout, save for one; the one they were looking for. Fagin felt particularly disappointed in the fact that all of the pickpockets had spent most of the day searching, yet they had all come up empty-handed. Even asking many different strangers on the street whether they had seen a young boy in a blue tailcoat and top hat, they still got no answers. Dodger appeared to have vanished into thin air. It really was quite discouraging.

Sighing again, Fagin gathered the boys and Nancy around the table. Bet was working her shift at The Three Cripples; since Nancy hadn't been able to find her, she had not yet been told the news, and Bill was goodness knows where. He was probably out drinking; looking for Dodger would be the last thing on his mind.

"Right, while you lot 'ave been out lookin' fer Dodger," he said, spreading out a sheet of paper on the table, "I've been jottin' down some notes that may 'elp us find 'im." He raised his hand to silence the cheering that began to arise. "Since it was dark when 'e was taken, I couldn't see what 'is kidnapper looked like. But I do know that the man who took 'im was wearing a long, black coat like mine. And 'e 'ad a black 'at like mine, too. 'E was very tall, as well. So, what I want ya to do, is if ya see a tall man with a long black coat and black 'at, trail him. Follow 'im where-ever 'e goes, maybe one of ya will get lucky."

"But what if they're not wearing a black 'at and coat?" Piped up Charley.

"Still follow 'im. Any person ya pass on the streets could 'ave Dodger. Ya can't leave anythin' to chance. Also, keep on lookin' places ya already looked before, cos whoever 'as Dodger could easily double back. So, just remember that when you're out tomorrow; 'e could be right under your noses."

The boys and Nancy all nodded solemnly. "Good. Now get to bed," there was no need for shouting tonight, as the boys obediently shuffled off to their respective beds and climbed into them without saying a word. Nancy, being the mothering person she was, helped tuck a few of the younger ones in and soothed them to sleep.

Standing up after the last one had dropped off, she turned to Fagin. She looked surprised to see him wrapping several blankets around his shoulders and pocketing an unopened bottle of gin.

"What are ya doin'?" she whispered, tiptoeing over to him, so as not to wake the children.

"What am I doin'? I'm going out to look fer Dodge," he said, pocketing a handful of handkerchiefs.

"Oh. Okay. But what if ya get hurt?" Fagin just stared at her and she knew that Fagin didn't care. He was very fond of Dodger and it was no secret that Fagin would risk his life for the boy. She decided she couldn't stop him. And Fagin was very streetwise; he knew what he was doing. Nancy knew it had been torture for him sitting around all day and doing nothing while Dodger's life could possibly be hanging in the balance. Nancy shuddered at the dark thought and turned her attention once again to Fagin. "And the blankets and the gin?"

"'E could be 'urt! I ain't just gonna sit 'ere and wait for 'im to come 'ome! If I do that, 'e might not come back," he said gravely, looking straight into Nancy's eyes. Nancy suddenly threw herself at him, hugging the man for all he was worth.

"Oh, Fagin! I'm just so _worried_ for 'im! 'E's only a kid; 'e don't deserve none of this! I just want 'im to come back! And I – I, I feel so _guilty_! I don't wanna look for 'im! I don't wanna, because I'm terrified that I'm gonna find 'is body! I'm so _scared, _Fagin; I don't want that to 'appen to Dodge; I wouldn't be able to 'andle it. And if I did find 'is body, it would tear me apart. I wouldn't be able to live with meselfbecause I shoulda done more to 'elp find 'im!"

To say Fagin was shocked by Nancy's outburst would be an understatement; he had no idea she cared so deeply about the boy. And yet, he felt the same way, wanting to find Dodger, but not wanting to find him hurt in any way, shape or form. And, just as Nancy did, he would feel inconceivably guilty about not finding Dodger before he was injured. Fagin rubbed Nancy's back tenderly as she sobbed on his shoulder. When she had ceased crying, he then left, with her promising to stay with the boys until he returned.

Fagin walked down the deserted streets, wondering where to start. These streets and alleyways had already been searched, he knew, but he remembered what he had earlier said; about Dodger's kidnapper doubling back. Fagin walked down the nearest alleyway and carefully lifted the lid off of one of the dustbins. He felt his stomach twist as he rifled through the rubbish and he knew it wasn't because of the stench. He felt as if he were searching for a body when he looked through the bins. Fagin tried to reassure himself that that wasn't the case and that there was absolutely no reason to find Dodger's dead body in a bin. As much as Fagin tried to tell himself that, he couldn't believe it. If Dodger was going to turn up alive, then why was he kidnapped? Young boys aren't just kidnapped for no good reason. Somebody was responsible for his disappearance and Fagin had sworn to find him.

Fagin searched everywhere he could, but with each dead end, he became more and more frustrated. He had so little to go on; just the image of a tall man with a long black coat and hat and a note instructing Fagin not to look for the boy.

Never-the-less, Fagin continued to search for Dodger, covering as much ground as he could, even carrying on after darkness had fallen. When it had gotten so dark that he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, then did he decide to return home. As he started back, he was surprised to find that he had covered so much ground; it took him almost half an hour to walk back home.

Once again, he was disappointed that he hadn't found Dodger. He had been missing for almost a whole day now and there were no clues anywhere as to where he could be. It just didn't seem possible. As much as he hated the thought of it, but Fagin found himself thinking that he'd rather Dodger be in the hands of an angry Bill. At least then he would know where the boy was, and who knows, maybe Dodger would be safer in the hands of a drunken Bill.

Knocking upon the door, Fagin stood there, thinking. He didn't know why, but he had the strangest feeling that they should all be doing something more. Maybe he was worrying too much, but it was only natural for him to worry; his prodigy had been stolen. Fagin was still mulling over this when Nancy opened the door and looked behind him, just as he had done a fair few hours before. Fagin just shook his head and stepped inside. To his relief, the boys were all still asleep, and, to his shock, Bill and Bet were seated at the table, Bill swigging down a mug full of gin while Bet's sat untouched in front of her. Fagin just took a seat at the table, taking Nancy's cup and drinking a large mouthful of gin. Bet stood up, walked over to Fagin and hugged him tightly.

"I came as soon as I 'eard," she whispered into his ear. "Don't worry; I know 'e'll be found soon."

"'Ow did ya find out?" he asked as she let go of him.

"Bill told me," she replied, resuming her seat. "I asked why Nancy weren't workin' and 'e said she was out lookin' fer Dodge," she explained, catching Fagin's surprised look. "I asked 'im why and 'e told me Dodge 'ad bin kidnapped."

"Yeah, I just bin out lookin' her 'im. Nothing. It's like 'e's disappeared off the face of the earth!"

"So, what do we do now?" Bet asked.

"We keep lookin'. We don't stop 'til we find 'im. We're all gonna 'elp; that includes you, Bill," he directed this at the bored-looking man, who merely grunted in reply. Rolling his eyes, Fagin began to tell Bet of their plan to find Dodger and Bet insisted that she would help.

"Right, I think we should all get some sleep," Nancy eventually said. Leaving them to pick their choice out of the few remaining cots, Fagin shuffled into his lair, and collapsed onto his bed, falling asleep instantly. They would all be able to think much better after a good nights' sleep.

~ X ~

A very angry Dodger got to his feet as the man sat on a hard, wooden chair placed in a corner. Yes, he had been hit, but Dodger was barely injured.

"Right, not only is this kidnap, this is child abuse," Dodger informed him, glowering. "Just you wait 'til I get out of 'ere. Oooh, I'll 'ave your 'ead for this! You wait and see!" he threatened, pointing a finger in the man's face.

"What makes you think they're going to find you?" asked the man slyly. This didn't deter Dodger at all.

"Oh, they'll find me. London ain't that big and you can't 'ave gone far with me."

"I left them a note, and don't think it will be so easy for them to find you; London is bigger than you think."

"You wrote them a note? Why? What did it say?" asked Dodger, his curiosity getting the better of him and completely ignoring the last statement.

"Oh, just telling them to not look for you," the man recalled what he wrote and raised his eyebrows as Dodger bit back a laugh.

"Are you serious? That was all you wrote? Not even a threat?" Dodger burst out laughing when the man nodded his head. "You ain't got a clue, 'ave ya? Of course they're gonna look for me, if'n all ya wrote was 'don't look for 'im.' Besides I 'appen to be a particular favourite of Fagin's; they can't get along without me. You don't think Fagin's just gonna let me go, do ya?"

Angry at being proven wrong by a mere child, the man grabbed Dodger by the front of his jacket, threw open the door, marched down the hall and opened the door to a small broom cupboard. He threw Dodger in, slammed the door and locked it. Then, he retreated back to the main room and sat once again on the chair, listening to the boy's angry yells as he hammered the cupboard door.

"What do ya think you're doin'? Let me out of 'ere, _now!_ I mean it! Open this door! I said, _open this door right now! _I'll kick it down, I swear to God I will!" Loud thuds accompanied this; Dodger was indeed kicking the door, but it refused to budge even one inch. "I'm really, really, _really_ beginnin' to dislike you now! Just let me out! Gawd damn it, _let me out!"_

Ignoring Dodger's angry shouts, the man calmly walked into an adjoining room, lying down on an old mattress that he had dragged down from an upstairs bedroom. He removed his trenchcoat and draped it over his body like a blanket, curling up beneath it. He could still hear the sounds of Dodger beating the door perfectly. The boy was still screaming bloody murder, threatening him, thudding continuously on the wood of the door.

Eventually, the banging died down as Dodger started to tire himself out. Finally, it stopped altogether; the boy must have fallen asleep. The man arose from the mattress and carefully tiptoed down the hall to the cupboard. Bending down, he pressed his eye to the keyhole, spying the boy immediately. He was lying asleep on his side, curled up in a little corner. Even in the dim light that lit the hallway, the man could see that Dodger's fists, which were laid out tenderly in front of him, were bruised and bloodied from when he had beaten the door. The man watched him for a little while longer, then retreated back to his bed. When he was sure Dodger was fast asleep, then did his kidnapper close his eyes and sleep himself. If the boy was going to continue like this, then it was going to be an extremely unpleasant time. Never had there been a child quite as stubborn as this one; no-one had ever dared answer him back before; they mostly just cowered in fear. Truth be told, he could be quite fearful when he wanted to be; this child would soon learn that.

He wondered why the boy laughed when he heard what was in the note. Would it really make a difference if he had added a threat? Besides, he was familiar with this sort of thing; he'd never seen a problem with leaving notes warning people. They never even bothered to look for their loved ones. Either that or they were too late. It wasn't as if he had left much evidence; as far as he was aware, nobody saw him. He'd never been caught before and darned if he was going to be all because of a child.

When the man awoke reasonably early the next morning, he immediately went to the cupboard and again peered through the keyhole. To his relief, Dodger was still asleep. He sighed and ran one hand through his long, mousy-brown, greasy hair. Last night had been tiring for him and no doubt the boy would carry on in the same way as before. He needed to get it over with and he needed to do it quickly. No doubt the boy's family (if he had one, that is) would be looking for him. He didn't know for sure if they were, but he didn't want to risk it. His thoughts were interrupted by a thudding sound coming from inside the broom cupboard; the boy was obviously awake.

"Are ya gonna let me out now?" Dodger called out wearily, continuing to lightly thud on the door. The man opened the door and found a tired-looking Dodger leaning up against the back wall and dully kicking his feet out at the door.

"Well, I suppose," he said, opening the door wider and allowing Dodger to pass through. The boy wandered aimlessly down the hallway and back into the main living-room. There, he sat down upon the only chair and rubbed his sore knuckles. He felt his kidnapper's eyes on him and he looked upon. Sure enough, the man was glaring at him.

"That's _my_ chair," he said quietly, looking Dodger straight in the eye.

"So what? You 'ad it all last night; me, I 'ad to sleep in a bloody _cupboard!_" Dodger snapped, glaring straight back at him.

"As a matter of fact I didn't 'ave the chair. So, why don't you learn to respect your elders and give it to me?"

"Why should _I_ respect _you?_" Dodger said incredulously. "Ya snatched me from me 'ome! Like I was a possession or somethin'! If anythin' you should respect _me,_" the boy added, raising his head.

"Oh, really? And why should I do that?" The man felt a bit confused. Why wasn't the boy afraid of him? Clearly that night in the broom cupboard had done nothing.

"'Cause I am a gent of only the 'ighest class and it just don't do kidnapping 'ighly respected gents from their 'omes," Dodger smugly informed him.

"Trust me boy; you ain't no gent," the man smirked and leaned in towards the boy as Dodger's hazel eyes burned into his own green ones with silent rage. "Now, if you just do as I say, this will be a lot easier."

"Who are ya?" Dodger hesitated before he asked that question. How dare this bloke accuse of being an ordinary person one saw out on the streets? What right did he have? "Why did you take me?" The man calmly shoved Dodger out of the chair before sitting there himself. Dodger scrambled to his feet and scowled at the man, folding his arms.

"I took ya because I, well, it's not for you to know. I just decided on you. It's as simple as that, really."

"You're a sick bloke, really you are," spat Dodger, walking over to the far end of the room and leaning against the wall. "Who are you?" he repeated.

"That's none of your business," said the man sharply. "Why don't you just call me... Thomas?" he suggested, using a false name, the first that had entered his head.

"I ain't even gonna dignify that with an answer," replied Dodger, looking down at the ground as he scuffed his foot against the old wooden floorboards.

"You just did," smirked "Thomas." Dodger's face contorted with anger.

"Shut up!" he shouted, stepping forward. This man was really doing his head in; it seemed he was doing all he could to push Dodger's buttons. "Thomas" slowly rose out of the chair and began advancing towards Dodger.

"What did you just say to me?" he said in a soft voice.

"I told ya to shut up! Gawd, you're doing me _'ead_ in!" Dodger yelled, walking right up to him and screaming in his face. "Thomas" grabbed his left arm and yanked it upwards so Dodger's feet were dangling a few inches off the floor. "Ow! Watch me 'and! See what ya made me do!" Dodger growled, twisting his wrist around, so that the older man could see the bruised flesh dotted with dried blood.

"That's your fault," hissed "Thomas," shaking the boy angrily. This only made Dodger angrier.

"'Ow the bloody 'ell is it _my_ fault? You're the one who locked me in the bleedin' cupboard!"

"Because you wouldn't _listen_ to me!" The man was starting to lose his temper now, something that rarely happened. But Dodger was not going to give up this easily.

"Well, duh! I mean, what do ya expect? Me to cower in the corner like some scared little kid and obey your every command?" With that, "Thomas" dropped Dodger to the ground. Without knowing it, the boy had hit the nail right on the head. "Thomas" was a man who liked to have power and be in control and he hated it when he wasn't. This boy was making him feel more and more out of control with each passing minute.

"Actually, yes," he said to the boy, who was now back on his feet.

"Well, I won't," Dodger told him defiantly, folding his arms. Raising one heavy eyebrow, "Thomas" started to advance towards Dodger again. The boy did not back away, even when they were standing within an inch of each other.

"Well," he whispered, looking down at Dodger, "I'll guess I'll 'ave to _make_ you."

~ X ~

Whew! Another chapter finally finished! What's going to happen to our precious Dodger? I know the answer, and you can too, all you have to do is leave a review! So, if you liked it (or if you didn't) then leave a review!


	4. Chapter 4

Here we go! Another chapter! Let's see, why was I so late in posting it this time? Hmm, excuses, excuses... Okay, I'm just lazy, alright?

Disclaimer: Once again, I'm neither Charles Dickens or Lionel Bart. If I was either, the book, play and musical would be all about Dodger.

Chapter 4:

It was now Dodger's second day in captivity. Everybody who knew him didn't know what to do. Even his kidnapper had no idea as to what do with him. In both houses the mood was sombre.

Fagin was sitting at the table, his head in his hands. He was so frustrated; he needed Dodger back. The boys hadn't gone out on the job since the day he was taken; they had all been so busy searching. He decided to send half of the boys back out on the job and the other half would continue to look for Dodger. They would swap over the next day. Sighing, Fagin hoped this plan would work. He wished he knew more people; more acquaintances meant more searchers. Oh, well, he would have to make do with what he had. Today, he decided, he would tell the boys who were going to try and find Dodger to take supplies with them. Dodger couldn't be that hurt already, he figured. But the boy was bound to be hungry and thirsty, so he would be careful to tell the little gang of pickpockets' to bring food and drink with them.

Fagin reached into his trenchcoat pocket and pulled out the note that the kidnapper had scrawled. Why would he leave a note? What was the reasoning behind it? Unable to think straight, he put the note aside. He would worry about it when he had more time.

Dodger's top hat still lay on Fagin's bed. It seemed so weird to see the hat laying there on its own and not on Dodger's head. That hat was so important to him; to Dodger the hat was a part of him, as was his beloved blue tailcoat. One could always recognise him in his strange attire, which was why he liked it so. You insult his attire, you insult Dodger. That does not happen.

Smiling to himself slightly, Fagin slowly stood up and started to rouse the boys.

"Come on! Wake up, the lot of ya! 'Ard day's work ahead!" He clapped his hands, ignoring the grumbling that was arising. Only one person remained asleep in their cot. Fagin was just about to go and wake him when he spotted Nancy and Bet washing their faces together in a corner. The sleeping figure was Bill, Fagin concluded. He decided to let him sleep in for a little while longer.

"Me and Bet will search today," Nancy told him, drying her face with a handkerchief.

"Thanks," he told her, before raising his voice to get the boys' attention. "Right, now, listen up, all of ya! Things are gonna be a little different today."

"Like what?"

"'Ow do ya mean?"

"What-?"

"Listen! Today, only 'alf of ya are gonna search fer Dodge. The other 'alf will do what ya always do – steal. But I want ya to get more food than ya normally would; ain't got time sit about workin' on wipes and the like. Okay? And then tomorrow, you'll swap round. Right, now," he raised his hand and held it out in front of him. "You lot are gonna look fer Dodge," he said to the boys on his right side, "and I want ya to take some gin and whatever food ya can find, ok? Split it up between ya. Any questions?" There was silence. "Good. Now, get goin'!" The boys' ran silently out of the door. Nancy and Bet were still there and Bill was still asleep. Not long after, the two women left as well, leaving Fagin alone with the still-sleeping Bill. Fagin wanted to go out and search himself, but he needed Bill to wake up first; it was unlikely that Bill would help with the search, but he probably wouldn't mind staying at the hideout if Dodger was brought back. Fagin would ask him when he awoke.

~ X ~

The large group of boys raced down the alleyway, hardly any of them speaking. Once they had reached town, they immediately split up into their two groups.

"I think we should get some food before we go and look fer Dodger," said Charley, who was in the group assigned to look for the boy. The other group members nodded in agreement. Ace sidled up to a fairly busy market stall that was displaying freshly baked bread, hot rolls and currant buns. He pretended to look at the wares, then when the salesman's back was turned, he quickly grabbed two rolls, tucked them in his pocket and calmly turned away. Then it was Charley's turn; he managed to nab a few mini pork pies.

When the rest of the boys'; Henry, Percy, James, George, Samuel (whom everyone called Sam) and Robert felt that they had enough food, they decided to split into pairs and start the search.

"Oh, and don't forget to look in old, empty 'ouses!" Charley yelled to his friends' retreating backs as he walked down the street with Ace. He saw them turn around give him the thumbs-up, before disappearing down an alleyway.

"So...," said Ace slowly, as he and Charley continued to walk. "Do ya think 'e's all right?" Charley did not need to ask who he was talking about.

"I'd like to think so, but some'ow I don't think 'e is," Charley replied, staring straight ahead. "Why else would 'e be kidnapped?" Ace had to agree.

"I suppose you're right. But then again, I don't think Dodge is the kind of bloke to let some stranger get the better of 'im."

"That's true," acknowledged Charley. "'E would definitely kick up a fuss, that's for sure. I just can't shake off the idea that whoever's got 'im 'as 'urt 'im or is gonna 'urt 'im."

"Same, but maybe 'e'll get lucky. Who knows, 'e's probably tryna escape as we speak!"

~ X ~

On the contrary, Dodger was doing nothing of the sort. After "Thomas" had threatened him, the boy had turned on his heel and retreated into a corner. Sitting down, he drew his knees up to his chest, folded his arms over them and rested his chin on his hands. "Thomas" sat back down in the chair and stared at the boy.

"That's better,", he muttered. Dodger said nothing. He was thinking of a plan. It would require extreme patience otherwise it wouldn't work. "I see you're finally startin' to learn yer place." He smiled at the boy; a crooked, knowing grin. It made Dodger feel uneasy, but he didn't show it. '_That's what you think,'_ he thought. "Now that you've calmed down, how about we get to know each other a little better?" Raising one eyebrow, Dodger shook his head. He did not want to have anything to do with this man. "What's your name, boy?" "Thomas" asked, completely ignoring Dodger.

"Why do ya wanna know?" the young pickpocket whispered, eyeing him strangely. "Thomas" appeared unfazed.

"Now, now, I'm only trying to be friendly. No need to get defensive," he was again smiling at Dodger. "Now, tell me your name. I've told you mine." Dodger longed to tell him what he really thought, but he couldn't; he had to be nice and polite or else it just wouldn't work.

"Well, I'm not sure I know me name," he lied. When "Thomas" cocked his head at him, the boy continued. "I'm an orphan and I never knew me last name, so I just made one up." This was not true; his father's name was John Dawkins and Dodger was named after him.

"That's too bad. Don't you think you could at least tell me the name you made up?"

"I was told never to speak to strangers," said Dodger, hoping the man wouldn't lose his temper again.

"You're a smart boy. We won't be strangers if we get to know each other. Now, what is your name?" Dodger shook his head stubbornly.

"I don't think I wanna get to know ya," he answered quietly. "Thomas' " eyes darkened.

"And why not? What precisely is the matter with me?" Dodger didn't dare speak his mind; which he usually did. So, he made up another lie.

"Nothin'. You see, I don't feel like gettin' to know ya right now. I don't feel like doin' anythin'," he added quickly, catching "Thomas' " eye. "I'm cold, tired, 'ungry and thirsty," he pouted as he said this, playing it up for all he was worth.

"Hm. That _is_ a problem," agreed "Thomas", still staring at the boy. "You stay right here." With that, he got up and went into the next room. Dodger waited until he was gone, then he stood up and looked out of the window that he was previously seated under. He didn't recognise where he was at all. It didn't appear to be a street, as there were no homes opposite him. All he could see was a wide, cobbled pathway. There must be somebody else around here, Dodger figured. It couldn't be just them two. There would be no sense in building one house in the middle of nowhere. He heard approaching footsteps and quickly sat back down. "Thomas" re-entered the room and looked pleased that Dodger had seemingly done as he had been told.

"I've just looked quickly around the house and discovered that there's no food. So, I'm going to go out and get some. Can I trust you to stay here while I'm gone?"

"Yes, of course you can. And thank you so much for getting' me somethin' to eat. You're too kind," gabbled Dodger, wanting "Thomas" to hurry and leave. Smiling at him slightly, "Thomas" threw on his trenchcoat and sauntered out the front door, locking it behind him. Dodger carefully peeked out of a corner of the window, trying not to show too much of his face in case "Thomas" looked back. Thankfully, he didn't. All the same, Dodger still waited a little while before he went to the front door and tried to open it. It didn't budge, no matter how hard he pushed and pulled; for an old house, the locks were still in good use. Going back into the room, he discovered that the locks to the window was rusted shut. No point in even trying to open it. Determined not to give up, Dodger went into the next room. Immediately spotting the window, he rushed over and inspected the lock. Only a little bit of rust. With luck, it just might open.

Pushing up his coat sleeves, he started to tug at the sliding, metal bolt at the bottom of the window-sill. He grimaced as it squeaked in protest, but still pulled all the harder. It was starting to move now. Dodger pulled the sleeves of his coat down over his hands, placed his foot against the wall, took a deep breath and heaved with all his might.

_Squeeeaak!_ The lock was snapped open with such force that Dodger fell to the ground. Quickly standing, he pushed the two windows open and hurriedly climbed out, jumping to the ground.

Looking left and right, he saw that there was only one other house next to this one. Going in there would be a bad idea, he decided. For starters, it could be empty and that wouldn't be a great deal of help. Secondly, if there were people living there, they could turn out to be just like his kidnapper.

'_I need to get to town,'_ thought Dodger, taking off in the direction "Thomas" went. He ran quite slowly, ready to duck out of sight if he saw "Thomas." Thankfully, he didn't, and managed to get to the market undetected. Dodger looked about hurriedly, weaving in and out of the crowds, searching for a familiar face. But he saw so-one he recognised, and therefore, no-one who could help him. He kept on looking, though; he certainly wasn't about to give up.

~ X ~

Charley and Ace were having less luck than their missing friend. They had found nothing that even remotely hinted where Dodger could be.

They had moved away from the market, and were searching in lesser-known spots, such as footpaths that were deserted; they even found one that led onto a little wooded area. Both boys stared at the trees for a while; it looked so calm and peaceful, they almost didn't want to disturb it. But they had to. They carefully stepped through the trees, on a little wood-chipped footpath, the chips cracking beneath their feet. They looked from left to right, searching for a spot of blue or white. There wasn't a lot of ground to cover in the little area, but still, they split up and double-checked where-ever they searched.

After deciding that Dodger was not there, they exited the little wood and went back along the footpaths.

"Do ya think there are any other places round 'ere 'e could be?" asked Charley, tired from all the walking.

"Could be. Might as well find out," replied Ace just as wearily. The two pickpockets said nothing more as they wandered back down the footpath and onto an old street, with two old-looking, wood and brick houses at the end. The market was not far away; they could hear the faint hustle and bustle behind them.

"Weird. Just two 'ouses," Charley pointed out, confused.

"Probably were for rich people who didn't wanna live near other folks," Ace guessed. "Let's go see of anyone still lives in 'em." Walking up to the first door, he rapped on it loudly. It was answered by an elderly woman, with piercing blue eyes and grey hair wrapped up in a white shawl.

"'Ello, ma'am," said Charley, putting on his politest smile.

"Yes. What can I do for you boys?" she asked.

"Well, you see our friend has gone missin'," the old woman's eyes widened and she clasped a gnarled hand to her mouth. "We were wonderin' if you've seen 'im. 'E's eleven, with brown 'air and eyes and 'e's wearin' a big blue tailcoat." The woman thought for a moment. The boys held their breath.

"No, I don't think so. Howard might have, though. Howard?" She turned her head inside and called the man, who was most likely her husband. An elderly man shuffled into view. He had little hair on his head, the same piercing blue eyes as his wife and was wearing a brown jersey suit.

"What is it, Eileen?" he rasped.

"These two boys are looking for their missing friend. He has brown hair, brown eyes and wears a blue tailcoat. Have you seen or heard anything of him?"

"Hm, no. Have you?"

"No. Sorry, boys'. But we'll be on the lookout."

"Okay. Thanks anyway," muttered Charley, as the couple closed the door.

"Don't worry," said Ace, noticing Charley's crestfallen expression. "We can still try next door." However, they stopped at the sight of the open window. They didn't expect Dodger to be in there; besides it was too quiet. Both knew that if Dodger was in there and for some reason, was unable to get out of the window, then he certainly would be making as much noise as possible. And if he was in there, wouldn't the elderly couple have heard him? But what if Dodger was in there, unable to make a noise? What if he was gagged? What if he was _hurt? _

"Wait 'ere," Ace told Charley, climbing through the open window. Charley turned away from the window and before he knew it, Ace was climbing back out, empty-handed. "Nothin'," he said, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Just a chair and a mattress."

"Well, we might as well get back to the market," said Charley, and he and Ace started walking. "See what the others 'ave found. Who knows, maybe they've got 'im."

~ X ~

Dodger was still having no luck as he wandered about the marketplace. He couldn't go back to the den; he didn't recognise where he was. He figured that if he kept walking, he would recognise something or somebody, but no such luck.

"Thomas" handed over the appropriate amount of coins to the salesman. Then, issuing a slight smile as the man thanked him, he sidled away. He had just bought enough food to last for a good couple of days, including rolls, currant buns, pork pies, several portions of fruit and a string of sausages. With any luck, this should make the boy more compliant, he thought. By acting friendly and buying him food, he hoped to gain the boy's trust. It would be a lot easier.

"Thomas" then did a double take as he spotted something blue out of the corner of his eye. It was the boy! But how did he escape? No time to worry about that now, he thought; he needed to get the boy quickly before he disappeared.

Sneaking up behind him, "Thomas" waited patiently. Dodger was looking left and right, he seemed to be looking for something,or someone. Dodger turned around and froze, staring straight up at "Thomas."

"So... it seems I can't trust you to stay home alone," he whispered sinisterly, looking down at the young pickpocket. Dodger made to run, but "Thomas" quickly grabbed his arm and latched his hand around the boy's waist. Dodger opened his mouth to yell for help, but stopped after hearing "Thomas," "so help me God, if you make one sound, I swear I'll kill you here and now!" he snarled, dragging the boy away.

However, once they were almost away from the market, Dodger decided that he'd had enough.

"Let me go! Let me go! _Put me down!"_ he screamed, fighting "Thomas" for all he was worth, flailing his arms and kicking his legs. Surely someone would step in and help him? Twisting around, he could see that some of the locals were staring at them both with concern.

"No need to worry!" his kidnapper called over his shoulder. "Just playing a game!"

"No, we're not! Let me go, now! Please, someone 'elp me! Please!" Dodger saw the crowd start to disperse. Some couldn't tell if the boys were joking or but, but felt that it wasn't right to poke into other people's affairs. "'Elp me, please! Fagin! Charley! Ace! Anybody! _Please!_"

That was all the locals saw of the boy, before the man dragged him out of sight.

Arriving back at the house, "Thomas" eyed the open window.

"So _that's_ how you got out," he mused, dragging the struggling boy inside. He threw Dodger and the groceries harshly onto to the ground and quickly hurried into the next room, where he closed the open windows and locked them. After that, he locked the door and turned to Dodger. The boy was sitting up and rubbing his back.

"Did ya 'ave to throw me?" he moaned, still rubbing his back. "Thomas" didn't answer him; he just stood above him, glaring. Then, without warning, he reached down and slapped Dodger across the face. Dodger sprawled over onto his side and gasped in pain, clutching his sore cheek. "Thomas" stepped over him and started kicking him mercilessly in the stomach. The boy tried to curl up into a ball in order to try and protect himself, but to no avail. Dodger cried out in pain, even as "Thomas" picked him up by the back of his jacket and threw him against the wall, the boy's head coming into contact with the wood. Dodger stopped yelling as the wind was knocked out of him. Still showing no mercy, "Thomas" rained down punches on the boy's feeble form, even hitting him in the face, cruelly punching Dodger right in his left eye, then stopped and watched as the pickpocket howled in pain, coughing and hacking up little speckles of blood.

"No... no m-more," Dodger rasped, coughing, then crying out in agony as the pain coursed through him.

"Don't ever try that again," snarled the man, walking away from the boy. "Just for that, you can lie there and watch me eat." Retrieving the grocery bag, he sat upon the chair and started munching on the currant buns, deliberately groaning with delight. "Mmm, delicious. So good," he smirked at the boy. This would teach him to be disobedient and run off.

Dodger still lay there, coughing occasionally. His head hurt from where it had hit the wall. His stomach was throbbing from the kicks he had received; he could already feel the bruises forming. He hoped nothing was broken. Dodger did his best to ignore "Thomas," even though he was desperately hungry and wanted nothing more than to grab the bun out of "Thomas' " hand. Dodger tried to fight of the darkness that was threatening to envelope him; he rolled onto his stomach and coughed up more blood.

~ X ~

Charley and Ace wandered back through the market. They were unable to locate their friends so they decided to head home, all the while hoping Dodger would be back by the time they got there. Both wondered what Fagin would say when they came home without Dodger yet again.

Fagin lay down in his bed. Bill had woken up several hours before and had sauntered out of the den without a word. So, his only option was to remain there until the boys came back. The elderly man closed his eyes and before he knew it, he was asleep.

_Fagin was walking down one of the many cobbled streets of London, the sun shining down upon him. He felt strangely calm._

"_'Ey, Fagin!" a voice called. Looking left, then right, then straight ahead, Fagin saw Dodger standing at the end of the street, waving at him. Smiling widely, he waved back and beckoned Dodger forward. They boy happily ran towards him, smiling and laughing. As he got closer, Fagin saw that Dodger looked perfectly healthy; he had a spring in his step, his face was glowing and his eyes were bright and sparkling. His laughter was like music to Fagin's ears, his happy smile made Fagin want to smile and forget his troubles._

_Dodger stopped in front of Fagin, still smiling. Hardly daring to believe it, Fagin reached out to the boy, but just before he touched him, everything changed. The smile dropped from Dodger's face. Fagin recoiled back, not knowing what was going on. Grey clouds came and darkened the once beautiful day, causing the benefactor to look up. Fagin looked back at Dodger and gasped. Bruises and gashes had appeared on the boy's cheeks and forehead. His facial expression was one of pure and utter terror; his eyes wide. Blood started to trickle out of his mouth and nose. _

_Then, Dodger was moving backwards, being dragged by an unknown force. Fagin reached out for him, but Dodger was now out of his reach, being dragged further and further back. It was now extremely windy, so forceful Fagin couldn't fight it as he tried to run after Dodger._

"_Fagin! 'Elp me!" the boy gargled through a mouthful of blood, the sticky red substance dribbling down his chin and neck. The gashes on his cheeks and forehead were starting to leak blood, as well. Fagin ran after the boy, who was still being pulled away. Dodger reached out his arms, his feet firmly on the ground as he tried to get back to Fagin, who was knocked off his feet by a particularly strong blast of wind. Instantly getting back on his feet, he was again chasing Dodger. He couldn't see the boy now, but he could still hear him calling out. Reaching the end of the street, he looked around in shock; the boy had vanished. He was nowhere to be seen, although his cry for help echoed eerily around the street._

"_Dodger!" yelled Fagin in despair, before falling to his knees._

Fagin shot up in bed, panting and gasping for breath. His heart was racing and beads of sweat poured down his face. He was convinced that the nightmare was a sign of what was happening to Dodge, or what was going to happen.

_'We've gotta find 'im now before it's too late,'_ he thought miserably, sitting up. Well, there wasn't anything to do apart from wait. Always waiting. Sighing, Fagin resumed his seat at the table and tried to reassure himself that the dream was not real.

~ X ~

Dodger still lay on the floor, tired but unable to sleep. He was still coughing up blood, but not much as before. "Thomas" had fallen asleep not long ago and was curled up under the mattress, which he had brought in from the next room, after unlocking the door.

Annoyed that his escape plan didn't work, Dodger tried to think of another idea. But he was so tired and his head was so fuzzy; it was so hard to concentrate. He just simply decided to try again. All the beatings in the world were worth going back to Fagin's for. This time, he wouldn't hang about the marketplace; he would keep on running.

Dodger felt his eyelids drooping. He knew the plan wouldn't work tonight; he was too weak and tired. Oh, well he would try again tomorrow.

xXx

Finally, I finished it! Did you like, or did you not like? Please let me know what you thought in a review!


	5. Chapter 5

Another one for you! This one is very short just so you know. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I am neither Charles Dickens nor Lionel Bart.

Chapter 5:

Dodger sat up, staring at "Thomas." The man was still asleep. Dodger slowly shuffled along the floor, glancing over at the man anxiously every so often. The boy was trying to escape again. Ignoring the pain that shot through his stomach and abdomen, Dodger slowly stood up. He walked over to the door opposite him, the one that lead through to the other room with the window, and was pleased to find that there was not as much pain as he expected. Only when he reached up to slide the bolt across, then did he wince in pain. Grimacing, he pulled the bolt and as it squeaked, he turned to look at "Thomas," biting his lip. Thankfully, the cruel kidnapper remained asleep on the mattress. Sighing in relief, Dodger slid the bolt fully across and opened the door.

The bruised boy was constantly looking behind him as he crept over to the window. He was terrified at the idea of "Thomas" waking up and giving him another beating. But he didn't. Dodger started tugging on the bolt again; it was easier to open this time as it had been unlocked before and most of the rust had gone. Dodger whimpered in pain as he climbed onto the window-sill. His ribs were throbbing painfully again. But he ignored it as best he could and gently lowered himself onto the ground.

Getting home would be harder this time, as the boy's injuries would slow him down. It would be easier without the market, he figured. He walked down the street, too afraid to look back. Once he reached town, though, he had to stop and take a breather. The boy rested his hands on his knees and gasped for breath, all the while looking left and right. When he had caught his breath, he continued walking. He then recognised a familiar pointed shape to his right; it was the pointed roof to the sweet shop. He knew where he was! Dodger quickened his walk, not slowing down, no matter how much he longed to, and before he knew it, he was back at Fagin's.

Grinning slightly, he huffed as he jogged up the staircase and, gasping for breath again, he rapped upon the door with every ounce of strength he possessed, which was not a lot in his injured state.

The sun was now just starting to rise. Dodger swallowed nervously as he continued to bang on the door. He sighed with relief as he heard footsteps.

"Plummy and slam!" he gasped, coughing as the door slowly creaked open and Fagin's irritated face appeared in the gap.

"Who comes _this_ early in the – _Dodger!_" the old man gasped, staring at the hyperventilating boy.

"I got away! I got away!" Dodger breathed, stepping past Fagin and ascending the stairs into the den. Fagin followed him, as if in a trance.

"I don't believe this," he muttered, sitting down and rubbing his eyes. When he opened them, he saw Dodger raiding the cupboard in Fagin's little lair. The boy returned with an armful of bread and a few sausages.

"It took me so long to get 'ere," said Dodger, relieved as he collapsed in the chair next to Fagin's, gulping the food down as fast as he could.

"Dodge, you look terrible. Are you okay?" Fagin felt stupid asking that.

"'E _'it_ me!" Dodger looked upset and angry at the same time. "I actually escaped, but 'e caught me, brought me back and just 'it me! Look!" The boy pointed to his swollen, black eye. Fagin gasped upon seeing it.

"Don't worry about that now, Dodge. I'm just glad you're back."

"Me too. That bloke was insane!" Dodger stood up and looked at Fagin, "I didn't think I would escape this time." Fagin stared at the boy; the amount of emotions behind his hazel eyes was overwhelming.

"Oh, Dodger..." Fagin took the boy's hand. Dodger smiled slightly, then remembered something.

"'Ey, where's me 'at? I've only just noticed it was gone." It was Fagin's turn to smile. He stood up and walked back into his little room. Dodger's top hat was still lying on the elderly man's bed. Picking it up, his smile grew wider as he turned back to Dodger.

"'Ere ya go," he handed the black hat to the boy, who grinned and placed it on his head.

"There! I knew somethin' was missin'." Dodger then sat back down; his ribs were still aching.

"You should get to bed; I bet you're tired," Fagin took the boy by his arm and started to lead him towards his bed.

"Uh – Fagin?" Dodger looked about nervously and leaned in closer to the elderly man. "I – uh, well I – um..."

"What is it, Dodge? You can tell me."

"It's just that – I... I – I don't wanna sleep alone tonight!" Dodger's words came out quick and jumbled and he looked down at the ground, embarrassed. The truth was, even though he was back home, he didn't feel safe. Not even in his own bed, did he feel safe, mainly because he would be lying there, alone. Fagin was extremely understanding about it, though.

"You can sleep in my bed tonight, Dodge," the boy smiled at him slightly, then Fagin raised his hand and waggled his forefinger in front of Dodger. "But just for tonight!" Dodger nodded, smiled and followed the old man to his bed, climbed in and then curled up next to him. Dodger turned so as to face Fagin, reached out and grabbed the sleeve of the old man's coat, clutching it between his fingers. The reassurance of having someone whom he knew would protect him was enough to send Dodger into a peaceful sleep. The fact that Dodger was now home safe was enough for Fagin to drift off into an easy sleep. Both felt calm and content.

~ X ~

Dodger opened his eyes. It was still night and he was surprised to find that he was no longer lying on the bed, but on the floor. He had probably fallen out of bed again; that happened quite often. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and he saw another figure lying across the room on the floor. He recognised it instantly; it was "Thomas!" Dodger rested his head back on the floor miserably. It had all been a dream. It had felt so real, though. He had actually felt Fagin's ratty old coat in his hand. Dodger looked down, almost expecting it to be there, but it wasn't. It would be soon, though. Dodger would make sure of that. The young pickpocket was determined to return, no matter what. Maybe he would do it later, when he was better rested.

~ X ~

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! _Fagin was aroused in the dead of night by someone pounding at the door. He didn't dare answer it, though. What sensible person calls on someone in the middle of the night?

"Fagin! It's me! It's Dodger! Let me in! Plummy and slam! Plummy and slam!" Recognising the voice, Fagin immediately leapt out of bed and ran to the door, unlocking it as fast as he could. Dodger stood there in the crack and jumped inside when he caught sight of Fagin.

"Dodge! Yer – yer back!" the Jewish man gasped, closing the door, locking it and following Dodger upstairs into the den. The boy was sitting in his old chair next to Fagin's, his eyes closed in exhaustion. "'Ow did ya get away?"

"I snuck out while 'e was sleepin'. I actually got away earlier in the day, but 'e caught me and look what 'e did!" Dodger pointed to his face, the left side of which was bruised and swollen. "But I got away," he smiled as he said this and Fagin smiled as well. He couldn't believe that Dodger was actually sitting here with him. He also couldn't believe that he had escaped all by himself.

"Well, it's nearly mornin', we should get some sleep. The others will be glad to know yer back. Now come on, off to bed with yer."

Dodger silently stood up and looked Fagin straight in the eye. It was a curious expression; Fagin could not quite make it out. It almost looked like the boy wanted to tell him something, and at the same time, he didn't. But before Fagin could say anything, Dodger turned away and headed straight for Fagin's bed. He climbed into it, not even bothering to remove his coat. Fagin took the hint, and crawled in beside him. As they curled up underneath the blanket together, Dodger opened his eyes.

"G'night, Fagin," he whispered, closing his eyes and wriggling so he was closer to the old man. He wanted to be close to him as he came quite close to not seeing him ever again. The boy felt so calm and protected he felt as if he didn't have a care in the world. Fagin's favourite was back where he belonged.

"G'night, Dodger," Fagin whispered back, reaching out one arm and placing it around the sleeping child's body. Manly demeanour aside, he was delighted that Dodger was safely back home. He didn't feel a bit sentimental when he thought about how much Dodger's kidnapping had affected everyone. They had all worried about him, but it was safe to say that Fagin worried about the boy one hundred times more. In some ways, Dodger was like a son to him, and so were the other boys, but he cared more for Dodger and worried more about him because the boy's headstrong, stubborn and sometimes arrogant nature caused him to get into trouble quite often. He tried to be good, though. Fagin had to hand that one to him, he did try; not that he was ill-behaved; trouble just seemed to follow him around an awful lot and he never seemed to know when to be quiet. All things aside, Fagin truly was happy to have the pickpocket back home with him.

~ X ~

Fagin opened his eyes. Where was Dodger? He was here last night, wasn't he? Looking down, he found he was holding the boy's top hat. It had all been a dream. He decided to get up and look about the den, just in case. Dodger might have gotten up for a before-morning snack, which Fagin usually disapproved of, as there was such little food in the warehouse. But he decided to forgive Dodger this one time.

Exiting his little lair, Fagin was both worried and discouraged when he could not immediately spot Dodger. He wasn't raiding the cupboard, nor was he sitting in his chair or at the table. He wasn't even sleeping in his bed. With a heavy sigh, Fagin knew it really was a dream and re-entered his lair. There, he sat down upon his bed and buried his head in his hands.

~ X ~

There! Told you it would be a short one, didn't I? Just thought I'd give a little insight to Fagin and Dodger's relationship.

Well, if you want more, you know what to do; (coughs) Review! Review!


	6. Chapter 6

Hey, all. Sorry to keep you waiting so long. Anyway, here you go, enjoy!

InnocentSmile97, yes the main part of the last chapter was a dream. Dodger and Fagin both have the same dream in which Dodger escapes.

Disclaimer: I am not Charles Dickens or Lionel Bart, yadda, yadda, yadda, I own nothing but the plot. We've been through this.

Chapter 6:

Charley and Ace decided to head home early after having no luck at the marketplace. They had met up with some of their friends and they hadn't found Dodger either. They were too tired and disheartened to carry on, so they wandered back to the hideout, wandering what Fagin would say and/or do when they arrived home without Dodger yet again.

"Well, ya know," began Charley, trying to look on the bright side, "all of us are lookin' for 'im, one of us is bound to find 'im sooner or later." But he wasn't half as convinced as he sounded. As the boys ascended the staircase to the warehouse, they could only think of Dodger and Fagin, about what was going through both of their minds.

"Now then," called out a weary voice as Charley rapped twice on the door. It was Fagin.

"Plummy and slam," the boy called through, then waited as the door was opened by the elderly man and the boys stepped into the warehouse. They were surprised to find that Fagin was there; as far as they knew, Fagin was going to go out and look for Dodger while Bill stayed at the den. "We covered lots of ground today, Fagin," Charley told him, walking over to his bed and removing his coat.

"Yes, but not enough," muttered Fagin, turning to lock the door. Something was bothering him about the door, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. Then it came to him; the lock had been broken the night Dodger was kidnapped. For the past two days, it had not been locked properly! "Oh, my Gawd! I just realized..."

"What?" both Charley and Ace chorused, seeing Fagin examine the door.

"The lock's broken 'ere!" Both boys hurried over to the door and saw that, indeed, the lock had been broken. "That's 'ow 'e got in. No wonder we ain't been able to close it properly. I can't believe I didn't notice 'til now."

"Don't worry, Fagin," Charley tried to assure him. "We'll get a new lock, we could find a bolt tomorrow."

Fagin merely nodded and examined the broken lock for a little while longer, before sitting down at the table.

At various times all throughout the day, the rest of the gang returned to the hideout. The half that had been sent out for food arrived first; the ones looking for Dodger arriving much later in the afternoon.

"We've searched everywhere," muttered Samuel. "'E – 'e's just _gone._" They were sat around the table, a pan of untouched sausages in front of them.

"Come on. Eat up," said Fagin, trying his best to ignore what Samuel had said.

"We're not 'ungry, Fagin," Charley told him. Fagin stared at them. He knew why.

"Ya can't let good food like this go ter waste. Now eat!"

The boys all looked shocked at Fagin's little outburst. They silently ate their food and Fagin felt guilty for yelling at them. He just felt like he was under a lot of pressure; he had to find Dodger before he got hurt, a task which seemed impossible, all the while keeping his other boys well-fed and making sure they were okay as well. It was a lot, especially since Dodger appeared to have vanished off the face of the earth.

~ X ~

"Hey. Kid, wake up," "Thomas" shook Dodger's still form as he tried to rouse him. It was too risky to remain where they were any longer. There was a chance that somebody was living next door, and if they were, then they had most likely heard Dodger. There was also the chance that Dodger had told someone at the market, or maybe the townspeople who had overheard the boy's cries for help believed him. "Thomas" needed to make a move before anybody came calling. "Wake up!" he hissed, shaking the boy's shoulder even harder. As Dodger's eyelids flickered, "Thomas" pulled him up into a sitting position.

"Owww, me back," the boy moaned. His eyes and mind adjusted to being awoken and he became aware of "Thomas" in front of him. "What're you doin'? What's goin' on?"

"We're movin'. Leavin' this place," he replied, annoyed, as he hauled Dodger to his feet.

"What? Why now? In the middle of the night? Oh, come on, I ain't slept for days, and now you're just draggin' me up 'ere, draggin' me from place to place -"

"You never shut your mouth do ya?" snapped "Thomas," covering the boy's mouth with his hand. He was wearing gloves again. "Thomas" pulled the boy over to the door, ignoring Dodger's muffled complaints and quickly unlocked it. After stepping out, he closed the door, not even bothering to lock it again and began dragging Dodger down the deserted street. It was no easy task, though; he had one arm around Dodger's waist and the other clamped over his mouth, not unlike when he first abducted the boy. Dodger was certainly not helping "Thomas" to move along and was digging his heels into the ground. "Come on. Move it!" he hissed, jerking the pickpocket forward roughly.

"It _'urt's_ to walk!" Dodger snapped, his voice still muffled. "I think ya might 'ave done me back in!"

"Fine!" with an annoyed sigh; "Thomas" leaned down and hooked his arm under Dodger's knees. Standing upright, he proceeded to carry the boy through the streets like a baby, albeit still having one hand covering his mouth. Still not satisfied, Dodger continued to struggle; it was really uncomfortable to have only his neck and knees supported. "What now?"

"Yer 'urtin' me neck! Move yer 'and!"

"I don't think so. It's just a ploy so you can yell for 'elp." Dodger tried to convince him it was not so, but "Thomas" would not believe him. Truth be told, the boy was far too tired to call for help. Even his protests were starting to wear him down. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to sleep, even in the arms of his kidnapper. "Thomas" kept his hand around the boy's mouth and continued marching to his next location; another old, run-down house, dilapidated and full of wood-rot. He had been there before, but wouldn't be staying too long this time.

"Thomas" walked hurriedly down the street, anxious to get to the house. Even though it was dark, he still knew the way. He was very experienced in finding old, abandoned houses that hadn't been used for years. When he finally arrived, he removed his hand from Dodger's legs and opened the door, which required no key. After they were inside, he carelessly threw Dodger to the ground yet again, and dead-bolted the door. While "Thomas" was doing this, Dodger sat up and looked about.

The new house they were in was no better than the last. It was even smaller, only four rooms, and was even more isolated than the previous house. Dodger curled up in a corner of the room, and "Thomas" sat down in the opposite corner. The room they were in was so small that if both lay down at opposite ends of the room with their heads resting against the wall, their feet would be touching each others. The room was also bare; there was nothing in it, the only material things were the floor, a window and two doors. Dodger was so tired, he didn't want to talk to the man, but there was something he had to know.

"You know, uh – well, um," Dodger was afraid to ask, but he had to know the answer.

"Tell me. You don't have to be afraid of me, I won't hurt you." Dodger could only stare after hearing that. Couldn't he see that he had already hurt the boy? Even now, it still hurt Dodger to move a lot. It was almost like "Thomas" had two personalities; one, a calm man who genuinely seemed to want to get to know Dodger and gain his trust. And the other side of him, he was a madman who wanted the boy to suffer; his moods could flick on and off like a light switch and there was no foretelling when his mood would change. That was what Dodger found so very frightening about him.

"Well, it was what you said yesterday, 'I swear I'll kill you'," Dodger spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "You didn't mean that, did ya? You ain't really gonna... kill me, are ya?" When he finished speaking he looked down, not wanting to know what the man would say.

"Well," tilting his head to the side, "Thomas" thought for a moment. "Actually, yes, I do plan on killing you. I just don't know when. Whenever I feel like it, I suppose. Could be tomorrow, could be next week. Could even be in a few moments. But I will kill you."

"_Oh, Gawd!_" Dodger buried his face in his hands, trying not to cry. He looked up at "Thomas," his eyes shining with tears. "Please don't kill me," he whispered, hoping that "Thomas" would have at least a shred of a heart and soul and let him go. But to his dismay, the man only shook his head.

"Sorry, kid. That's just what the others said." Dodger's wet eyes widened.

"Others?" Oh, God, this had happened before?

"Mm-hm. Plenty of others. Now, go to sleep." With that, "Thomas" lay down, curled up and closed his eyes. After waiting a moment, Dodger did the same. He found it incredibly hard to drop off, which was understandable under the circumstances. Eventually, the boy managed to fall into a troubled sleep, only to wake up a few hours later. Dodger stared at "Thomas' " sleeping form. He wasn't really going to kill him, was he? The man was psychotic, but would he really go through with it? Dodger believed he would. He had seen his abductor's temper and knew he would be capable of doing something like that.

Dodger curled up into an even smaller ball and tried to stop the tears that were threatening to spill over his eyes. But no matter how hard he tried, they flowed out anyway, so he just cried silently into the floor.

"'E's gonna kill me," he sobbed. "I don't wanna die," the crying child covered his face with his hands and turned so as to face the wall. When his tears had ceased, the boy fell asleep again and did not wake up until later in the day.

"Thomas" awoke earlier than Dodger and just sat there, watching the boy shift about in his sleep. '_Another one to get rid of,'_ he thought. He didn't know how he was going to do it yet, and he was in no rush; he had had plenty of practice. One thing he did know is that he would really enjoy carrying it out this time; the boy was such a nuisance, he would be glad to get rid of him.

His sinister thoughts were momentarily put on hold as Dodger stirred. "Thomas" watched silently as the boy pushed himself up onto his elbows, still facing the wall.

"Good morning," smiled "Thomas," his 'nice head' on today. Dodger looked around slightly, but did not reply. "I _said_, good morning," the man repeated, an edge to his voice.

"Mornin'," Dodger muttered, not looking at him.

"That's better." Dodger could not bring himself to face the man. How could he, when "Thomas" had revealed he was going to kill him only the night before? "Thomas" reached out and pulled the back of Dodger's tailcoat, turning the boy around and observing his puffy, black eye and swollen bruised cheek. Dodger frowned at him, and tried to slide back out of his reach, but his ribs ached whenever he leant forward. "Somethin' the matter?" asked "Thomas," noticing the boy trying to move away.

"Yeah; you've 'urt me bleedin' ribs!" the boy snapped. "And everythin' else, for that matter." Dodger had been thinking; if the man was going to kill him, well then, he wasn't going to go down without a fight.

"I was only tryna teach ya a lesson; don't ever disobey me; I can do much worse and I will, if you carry on like this. If ya do as I say, you won't get beat, see?"

"No offense, but do ya really expect me to do as ya say? Imagine if _you_ were kidnapped, ya wouldn't just be sittin' there, would ya? No, you'd be doin' all ya could to get away. I'm only doin' what anyone else would."

"So, you'd rather get beaten tryna get away, than sat there with no injuries?"

"Yeah, I would." Dodger folded his arms and glared at "Thomas."

"Hm, that's interesting to know."

"Great. So, 'ow's about ya let me go now?"

"I don't think so." Dodger rolled his eyes.

"Come on. Ya don't seriously think I'd tell anyone, do ya?" Actually, Dodger had every intention of telling. How could he not? But he couldn't let "Thomas" know that.

"I wasn't born yesterday; I know you would."

Dodger sighed and, after a short while of struggling, slowly lay down on his back, grimacing in pain. He could feel his undoubtedly bruised stomach throbbing and placed his hands gently over his abdomen as if it would ease the pain. "'Urt, are ya?" said "Thomas" in a mocking voice. Dodger frowned and did not answer him. "Thomas'" eyes narrowed. "Hm. I think we may 'ave to sort out a few rules." Dodger still ignored him. "First rule is: always answer me when I speak to you."

"And if I don't?"

"If ya don't, well, then a beatin' is gonna come your way, isn't it? And since you've experienced this first-hand, I think we can agree that ya won't be disobeyin' me anytime soon, can't we?"

"I suppose. But I 'ave an even better idea."

"Oh, really? And what's that?"

"Let me go." "Thomas" actually laughed.

"Stubborn, aren't ya? Get it through yer 'ead: I am not lettin' ya go. The only way you'd ever get out of 'ere is if someone found ya. And we both know that ain't gonna 'appen. Even if someone _did_ find ya, ya still wouldn't get away." Dodger did not reply to this, and tried to sit up. "Thomas" noticed the Dodger struggling and leaned forward, grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him up, causing Dodger to whimper in pain.

"Argh! Bloody 'ell! Don't _do_ that!" he gasped, grasping his ribs.

"I was only tryna 'elp," smirked "Thomas."

"Yeah, well, don't! You only made it worse! Jus' leave me alone!"

"Now, why would I do that? Remember: jus' follow the rules and ya won't get beat." Dodger could not think of anything to say to that and besides, he was far too tired.

Both Dodger and "Thomas" sat there in silence for a while, Dodger nursing his ribs and stomach and "Thomas" scrutinizing the boy's every move. Eventually, Dodger's stomach growled loudly and the young pickpocket wrapped his arms tighter around himself. "'Ungry?" Dodger didn't answer; only looked down at the floor. He was hungry. Sure, he'd gone without food before, but not for this long; that he could remember, anyway. He would of at least had a few scraps by now; it wasn't enough, but then again, it was better than nothing. But he didn't want to give into "Thomas." So, he tried to ignore his hunger pangs, even as his stomach gave a particularly loud growl. "Well, tell me if you are; I'll get you somethin' to eat."

"I don't want anythin' from _you_," spat Dodger. "Thomas" looked unfazed. In fact, he actually reached into the pockets of his trenchcoat, which had been removed in the middle of his sleep, and pulled out two currant buns.

"So, ya don't want these, then?" he asked, holding them up in front of Dodger. The Artful one stared at the buns, using every little bit of willpower he possessed to not reach out and grab them.

"No," he finally said.

"Are you sure?" asked "Thomas," deliberately holding them closer to Dodger's face so that he could smell them.

"Yes, I'm sure. You can 'ave them," the boy replied tensely.

"You do realize this is the only food we have? Since you can't be trusted to not run off, I can't go out and buy any more. And I certainly can't take you with me, can I?"

"Yeah, you could."

"Don't be ridiculous, boy," laughed "Thomas," setting the buns down on the floor. "Oh, well, it looks as though you'll just 'ave to starve."

"You will as well, ya know."

"Not really; I can always sneak out when you're asleep."

"Then I won't sleep any more," replied Dodger defiantly.

"You'll sleep when I beat you into unconsciousness. Would you like me to now?" Dodger didn't reply, just looked down at the ground. "Well? _Would you?" _

"No," Dodger mumbled quietly, still looking at the ground.

"Thomas" decided to try again.

"What's your name, boy?" Dodger shook his head and refused to answer. "Thomas" swooped over to him, and pushed the boy so he was lying on his stomach and straddled him. One of his hands firmly grasped the top of Dodger's head, the man's fingers digging into his scalp and pulling his hair, while the other hand grabbed Dodger's chin. "Thomas" twisted the boy's head sideways, as if he was trying to make it turn at a 180 degree angle. Dodger screamed in pain, trying in vain to get the man's hands off of his head. When his head was turned almost three-quarters around, "Thomas" leaned in closer.

"_What's – your – name?"_ he hissed, slamming the side of Dodger's head into the hard, wooden floor with every word. When the boy still remained silent, save for his hollering, he resumed twisting his neck around again.

"Jack Dawkins! It's Jack Dawkins! _Arrgghhhh!" _Dodger screamed as his neck was painfully twisted one more time, then "Thomas" let go. The boy lay there on his stomach, clutching the back of his neck and wincing in pain.

"There, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Dodger's kidnapper sat down and pulled a small, black notebook out of his pocket. "Jack Dawkins," he muttered as he wrote the name down in the little book. Dodger's right ear was now bleeding slightly.

"Why don't ya just kill me now and get it over with"? snapped Dodger.

"No. I want to do it slowly; make you suffer as much as possible."

~ X ~

After a long night for everybody in the warehouse, it was finally morning; another chance to search for Dodger.

The small group of boys that had been assigned to search for Dodger the previous day were to go out and steal food. Both Charley and Ace were in the latter group. Charley still planned to look for Dodger, though. He didn't tell Fagin; all the boys were silent this morning after Fagin's little outburst the night before. Fagin didn't even need to tell the boys to get going this morning; they all silently hurried out of the door, some still holding half-eaten sausages in their hands. He knew they were a little bit on edge around him after he had snapped at them, and he couldn't blame them, either.

~ X ~

Once again, the little gang wandered into the market, before splitting up into their respective groups.

"C'mon," Charley muttered to Ace, grabbing his arm and leading him away.

"What're we doin'? We're supposed to be getting' food."

"We will. But first we're gonna look fer Dodge some more. 'E's been gone for _three days._"

"I know. Oh, and don't forget; we told Fagin we'd find a new bolt for the door today. So, what we gonna do?"

"Ask around, of course," Charley replied simply, walking up to a finely dressed couple. "Excuse me," he said, polite as he could. The couple shrank back a bit when he spoke; they clearly thought he was going to beg for money. "Me friend 'as gone missin' and we was wonderin' if you'd seen 'im. 'E 'as brown 'air, brown eyes and is wearin' a big blue coat," Charley explained, just like he did the day before.

"No, sorry," Charley looked disappointed, but nodded politely and thanked them all the same.

Then Ace did the same with another couple, but had no such luck.

They both carried on trying, though, and sneaking a bit of food here and there.

"Please, sir, 'ave ya seen our friend? 'E 'as brown 'air and eyes and is wearin' a blue coat."

"Yes, actually," he replied rather haughtily. Charley and Ace exchanged excited and relieved glances, their hopes rising, before the man continued "Typical street child; screaming and making a fool of himself in the street. He was playing a game; a man was dragging him and he was screaming for a Fagin, a Charley and an Ace to please help him. Children, these days, you know, they never -"

"Oh, no! Sir, 'e weren't playin'! 'E's been kidnapped! Which way did they go?" cried Charley. This could be the day, he thought. They may finally find Dodger. The man pointed to his left and the two pickpockets immediately raced the right direction. They both recognized the direction in which they were running: it lead to the two houses they had looked in yesterday. If that man had seen somebody dragging Dodger away, then that meant that Dodger had at least escaped!

"We 'ad to find the 'ouse _after_ 'e got out, didn't we?" Ace panted, frustrated.

"Keep runnin'!" ordered Charley. "Maybe we'll be able to get 'im away from that bloke!"

The two pickpockets refused to slow down, even when they saw the house in the distance. Instead, they sped up, only stopping when they were right in front of it. Charley wrenched the door knob while Ace fiddled with the windows. When both had opened, they rushed inside, searching different sides of the house, then swapping sides and double searching, just to be sure. They eventually met up in the main living-room, where unbeknownst to them, Dodger had been beaten and held captive only a mere few hours before.

"I don't_ believe_ this!" shouted Charley, kicking the wall in exasperation. "They musta moved! Now we'll _never_ find 'im!"

"This can't be 'appenin'!" raged Ace, just as angered as Charley. "It's not fair!"

"C'mon. We'd better get back," muttered Charley, looking defeated as his head and shoulders slumped forward.

~ X ~

Whew! Finally finished! Hope this is satisfactory to you all! So, now you know the truth as to why Dodger was taken. But will "Thomas" go through with it? Will Dodger be able to escape in time? Leave your thoughts in a review!


	7. Chapter 7

Hey, all! Another chapter here! Once again, I apologise profusely for the incredibly long wait.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing and nothing but the plot and "Thomas."

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 7:

Dodger stared at the man, rubbing his sore ear. He couldn't believe this man; he had to get away. The boy stared at the floor, rage building up inside him. It was close to boiling point now, and he was fighting to keep it under control. Dodger removed his hand from his ear and observed the blood that covered his fingers. His anger started to bubble up again. He clenched his hands into fists, not trusting himself to look up at his abductor, but he heard the man let out a snigger and he snapped.

"_I 'ate you! I 'ate you!_" Dodger screamed, having finally had enough. "You're a bloody _psycho_, you're _insane, _you're _cruel _and I wish ya would jus' go curl up an' _die!"_ If Dodger had the strength, he knew he would give "Thomas" a piece of his mind, and he didn't mean talking to him.

"Right. That's it. Come here," said "Thomas" quietly. Dodger didn't move. "I said _come... here,"_ the man repeated, this time a menacing undertone to his voice. Dodger stood up with some difficulty.

"Why? What are ya gonna do?" he asked, although he had a pretty good idea.

"I am going to beat the living daylights out of you; I am going to make you regret the day you were born," snarled the kidnapper, also on his feet, flecks of spit flying from his lips, an evil glint in his cold, green eyes. He started to slowly advance toward Dodger and the boy backed away involuntarily. "No, no. Come here, Dawkins; I think it's high time you learnt to think before you speak."

Dodger had his eye on the door opposite him, the one that led off into another room. Sure, it was very unlikely that he wouldn't reach it, but the boy was desperate to try anything to avoid getting beaten again. The young pickpocket started to slowly edge across the wall, one eye on "Thomas," the other on the door. If "Thomas" knew what Dodger was trying to do, he didn't let on; only continued to slowly and menacingly walk towards the boy, who was still moving along the wall. He was getting closer to the door now; if he could just get through it, he might be able to hide somewhere.

Both had had moved slowly clockwise around the room; it looked as if they were professional boxers squaring up in the ring. Dodger kept shifting his glance over to the door; why was "Thomas" moving so slowly? It was starting to worry Dodger; the bloke was planning something, he knew it. Ah, he was getting nearer now. Dodger didn't dare take his eyes from "Thomas'" as he moved even closer to the door.

The boy, after what seemed an eternity, finally reached the door and grabbed for the handle behind his back under the pretext of steadying himself. "Thomas" had stopped walking now and was watching him. Quick as he could, Dodger turned the handle, opened the door and slipped through it, slamming it closed behind him.

He didn't take the time to think about which room it was; he needed a place to hide. Looking around, he spotted a few cupboards; he was obviously in a kitchen. The cupboards would be too obvious, he thought. "Thomas'" footsteps started up again and Dodger moved further into the kitchen. He spotted a black ring sunk into the dusty, wooden floor and knew it was a trapdoor. Dodger didn't even hesitate; he crossed over to it and pulled at the ring, surprised at how light it was. Glancing down, he could only see a few steps before it was plunged into blackness, but that didn't matter to Dodger, who quickly looked behind him before descending into darkness, carefully closing the trapdoor above him. His heart gave a leap as considered the fact that there could even be a window down there!

However, as he reached the bottom, he quickly discovered there were no windows; never-the-less, he still ran to a far corner underneath the stairs as he heard once again the footsteps of "Thomas" now somewhere above him.

Dodger turned to the wall, lay down, hoping to blend in with the darkness, and curled up as the trapdoor slowly creaked open. Dodger tried not to utter a sound as "Thomas" came to the bottom of the stairs and slowly looked around before walking into the basement, and walking right up to where Dodger was...

And then turning away again. Dodger's heart was pounding. He felt something crawl over him and just barely suppressed a gasp as he realized it was a rat, clamping a hand over his mouth. "Thomas" paused, seemingly listening for something; he decided he must have imagined it, for he then walked back up the stairs and closed the trapdoor.

Dodger breathed out a sigh of relief, before quickly sitting up and gasping again; the pain in his ribs was suddenly quite pronounced, but then he remembered there was a rat down here with him so, ignoring the pain, he stood up and felt his way back to the stairs. For a moment, he wondered if his eyes were closed; it was so dark, but he knew they open. Finding his way with only his hands was extremely difficult, but he managed to find the staircase in the end and felt his way up it, tripping several times, because he could not see where he was going. When he reached the trapdoor he paused before opening it, ear tilted skyward, listening for "Thomas". When he heard nothing, he started to push the door, and then he realized that it wasn't opening. Panicking slightly, he pushed even harder, but it still would not budge. He heard "Thomas'" cruel laughter echoing eerily down through the floor.

"Having fun down there, boy?" That's when Dodger had realized that "Thomas" had known he was down there all along; he had been playing cat-and-mouse with him, tormenting him.

"Very funny. Now let me out," Dodger called through the door, sounding much braver than he felt.

"Let you out? Now why would I want to do that?" He laughed when Dodger didn't reply. "Exactly. I think a nice, long stay down there is exactly what you need. I will let you out when I see fit, probably when I've decided on your punishment."

"Ain't – ain't this me... punishment?" asked the boy, his voice growing quieter with every word.

"This? Oh, no, boy. Your punishment will be much more... severe." And with that, "Thomas" stalked away, laughing, into the other room, leaving Dodger alone.

Dodger sat against the far wall with his eyes closed and his legs sticking out. He heard scuffling in one of the corners and immediately drew his legs up, snapping his eyes open, not that it did any good. He didn't like it in the basement; he hated being locked up. Dodger decided to see if he could now open the trapdoor and he leant forward on his knees and started to crawl towards the staircase. Locating it, he crawled up it, feeling too weak to walk at that particular moment, and pushed up on the trapdoor. Still locked. Dodger sighed and slid down the stairs to the bottom where he again curled up and eventually fell asleep.

What seemed like only seconds later, but in reality it was hours, "Thomas" removed the heavy paving slab he had found from on top of the trapdoor, and pulled it open. "Thomas" had left Dodger down there all day, and had been enjoying the peace and quiet, but now he felt it was time to see how the boy was doing. He lit a candle and walked down the basement steps with more confidence now that he could see where he was going. He immediately spotted the boy lying on the floor at the foot of the steps.

Holding the candle close to the boy's face, "Thomas" inspected him. Was he alive? As if answering his silent question, Dodger screwed up his face and covered his eyes with his hands in reaction to the bright light. "Thomas" rolled his eyes and grabbed Dodger none-too-kindly by the arm. Dodger's eyes opened as "Thomas" started to carelessly drag him upstairs and across the kitchen floor. When they were back in the living-room, he casually let go of Dodger's arm and the boy fell to the floor.

Dodger sat up and looked at him. "Thomas" looked back at him for a while, and then stalked out of the room. Dodger waited a moment, then stood up and darted for the front door. He pulled on the handle, trying to open it, but just like the other one, it did not budge. He was still tugging on the handle when "Thomas" appeared behind him, glaring daggers at the boy. Dodger sensed he was being watched and spun around.

"Uh-oh," he muttered, looking straight at "Thomas." He thought for a short while, tilting his head and biting his bottom lip. "Hi," he said, slapping a fake and patronizing smile on his face. "Thomas" did not smile. He walked forward and grabbed the front of Dodger's coat, lifted him up and transported him back into the living-room, where he once again threw the boy on the ground.

"I _knew _you'd try that," he hissed. "Why else would I have left you alone? Now, I believe it's time for your punishment." The colour drained from Dodger's face. "I don't know exactly what your punishment will be, so I just decided to... improvise."

~ X ~

Charley and Ace walked slowly home, their heads and their hearts hung heavy with sorrow. Neither was paying attention to their surroundings; it's a wonder how they ever ended up back at Fagin's. Ace knocked on the door and called the password through. When Fagin opened it, he didn't even check behind them to see if Dodger was there. But he noticed the dejected expressions on the boys' faces.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Charley, who was sat at the table with Ace, raised his head.

"We almost 'ad 'im, Fagin," he rasped.

"What do ya mean? Did ya see 'im?" said Fagin, sitting down opposite them.

"No, but someone else did," replied Charley. "We was askin' round and some bloke said 'e saw some other bloke draggin' 'im away, so we went in the direction 'e was pointin' and we came to an 'ouse that we'd searched yesterday!"

"So that means that 'e'd gotten away," mused Fagin. "At least for a bit, anyway. Did ya search the 'ouse?"

"Yeah, it was empty," said Ace.

"Show me this 'ouse," ordered Fagin, standing up.

The boys lead Fagin past the market, through the many side roads until they reached the house.

"C'mon," said Fagin, walking briskly up to the door. "We're gonna search it; ya may 'ave missed somethin'."

Turning the handle, Fagin was surprised to find that it was open, and he walked through, the boys following him.

Once inside, Fagin looked around the small room, searching for something that may have shown Dodger had been here. He spied something dark on the floor by the wall to his left and headed over to it, wondering what it could be. It was a small, dark red stain; Fagin recoiled when he saw it. It was blood. There were several more blood spots on the floor next to it, spattering the floor. Fagin stared at the stains, worry filling his mind. He tried to reassure himself that these stains on the floor were not caused by Dodger's kidnapper. Maybe Dodger fell? Yes, that was it, Fagin told himself; Dodger was quite clumsy and often fell over. Fagin found himself recalling the time where Dodger, Charley and Ace had had a bit too much to drink and were racing each other up and down the length of the warehouse, the other boys cheering them on. Whilst running towards the door, and slightly unable to run in a straight line, Dodger had tripped over one of the younger boys' feet and went tumbling head first down the stairs, hitting his chin on every step and crashing head first into the door. In his drunken stupor, Dodger had merely stood up and laughed through a mouthful of blood.

Fagin knew this was not the case, though, he just knew. Well, maybe, he thought, maybe this isn't blood, maybe this is something else; maybe it's paint or something. Then he mentally scolded himself for being stupid; as if it was paint. How could it be paint? It was blood, no doubt about it.

Charley and Ace noticed Fagin staring at the floor and came over to him and inquired what he was looking at him. Fagin merely nodded at the spot; both boys looked down and gasped.

"That wasn't there yesterday!" said Charley. Fagin shot a piercing look at the boy and went on to examine the rest of the house. As he walked down the hallway, he saw a broom cupboard with the door ajar. Pulling the door open wider and peering inside, Fagin found yet more blood spots on the floor.

"That bloke is 'urtin' 'im," he realized, making himself even more worried.

Charley and Ace had followed him and, after seeing the blood spatters, Charley ran back down the hallway and out of the house. He ran straight to the house next door and banged on their wooden door for all he was worth. The old woman, Eileen, answered it.

"Oh, hello, young man," she said in quite a sad tone of voice, which made Charley suspect she knew something.

"Me friend was 'ere!" said Charley, having no need for formalities. "'E was 'ere and now 'e's gone! Did ya 'ear anythin' last night?"

"Yes, we did," she told him, still speaking in that sad tone. "Almost a half-hour after you left, Howard and I heard screaming coming from next door."

"Screamin'?" muttered Charley, turning pale.

"Yes, it went on for at least ten minutes, then it stopped."

"Did ya go and find out what it was?"

"Not straight away. We came round there early this morning but it was empty."

"Why didn't ya go there before that?" Charley was furious.

"Oh, come come, child, do you think that we could have helped him?"

"Yeah, ya could've!" Charley shouted. "Me friend is still missin' 'cause of you! 'E's 'urt and you coulda done somethin'! Thanks a lot (!)" he concluded sarcastically and ran back into the other house, leaving Eileen standing there, shocked.

When Charley went back inside, Fagin and Ace were examining the locks of the window in the spare room.

"This is 'ow Dodger escaped," Fagin told Charley as soon as he walked into the room. "What was ya shoutin' about a second ago?"

"There are two old folks livin' next door and we asked 'em yesterday whether they 'ad seen Dodge," explained Charley, his words gabbled in his anger. "They said no, so, I just went and asked 'em if they'd 'eard anythin' and they said they 'eard 'im screamin', but they only went to check on 'im this mornin' 'cause they _'couldn't do anythin' about it.'_" Charley mocked the elderly woman and clenched his fists.

"They didn't do _anythin'_? I've 'alf a mind to go there and -" but no-one knew what Fagin would do because Ace cut him off.

"Leave it, Fagin. It won't 'elp get Dodge back." Fagin nodded and the three of them left the house and resumed the search.

~ X ~

Dodger and "Thomas" were still sitting in the living-room. Despite "Thomas'" threats to punish the boy, he was making no movement whatsoever. It made Dodger nervous. The tension in the room was almost unbearable.

"Thomas" was just staring at the boy; unmoving and Dodger looked down at the floor, avoiding eye contact. Just because "Thomas" wasn't doing anything right now, doesn't mean he wasn't going to. Dodger knew the outcome, whatever it was, was not going to be pretty.

Suddenly, "Thomas" grabbed Dodger's hair, scrunching his hair up in his fist and pulling the boy's head back. Dodger cried out in pain and then grabbed a fistful of "Thomas'" lanky hair in retaliation, pulling it as hard as he could.

"Aaargh! Get off, ya little brat!" growled "Thomas," still pulling Dodger's head back.

"You let go of me first!" ordered Dodger, hissing in pain, not letting go either. It was quite a struggle; neither was prepared to release the other. Then "Thomas" stood up, lifting Dodger up by his hair, causing Dodger to relinquish his grip and thrash about in pain, screaming. "Thomas" angrily shook the boy several times, raised his arm as high up as it would go, and then dropped Dodger to the floor. Then, "Thomas" threw himself on top of the little pickpocket, crushing him.

Dodger screamed in agony, tears coursing down his cheeks and kicking his legs in a failed attempt to get away. Eventually, "Thomas" stood up.

"Why are ya doin' this to me?" Dodger sobbed, gasping for breath and wrapping his arms protectively around his stomach. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. He had felt close to death so many times now; he wondered how much longer it would take. "Thomas" seemed to enjoy inflicting as much pain and torture upon Dodger as he possibly could.

"Thomas" again left the room, but Dodger did not try to escape this time; it hurt too much. He curled up into a ball and hugged his stomach even tighter. The sound of "Thomas'" returning footsteps caused him to look up as "Thomas" reappeared, holding a chair. He picked Dodger up and placed him on the chair, who sat there, bewildered. "Thomas" then removed his braces and used them to tie Dodger to the chair, pushing Dodger's hands behind his back, wrapping the braces around his body several times before tying them tightly in a knot at the back of the chair.

"Thomas" paced slowly up and down in front of Dodger, who by now was looking quite terrified; the leather braces were cutting into his wrists and pinning his chest tightly against the back of the chair. The man advanced toward Dodger without any warning and raised his hand threateningly, laughing coldly as the little pickpocket flinched. A few minutes later, he did the same thing again; "Thomas" shot his fist out, stopping just inches away from Dodger's face and, naturally, the boy flinched again. "Thomas" carried on this cruel regime over and over until Dodger stopped cringing away.

"Thomas" walked over to his coat, which lay on the floor where he'd previously removed it to take off his braces and searched through the pockets until he'd found what he wanted. His back was facing Dodger, so the boy couldn't see what he was holding. It couldn't be anything good, he knew. He leaned over to the side, trying to see what "Thomas" was holding, but he couldn't lean far enough because of both the braces and the pain in his ribs.

"Thomas" suddenly turned towards him, something silver and gleaming clutched in his hand. Dodger's heart leapt into his throat as he realised it was a knife. "Thomas" only hesitated slightly before advancing towards the pickpocket, the boy's cries for mercy falling on deaf ears.

~ X ~

Oh, my God, I've finally finished it! I'm not too happy with the way this one turned out, but at least it's done. Anyway, it's moving along, so um, *coughs* review?


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry about the wait. Jack Wild ran away from me! I don't think he likes this story. I wonder why, lol.

Disclaimer: I. OWN. NOTHING.

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 8:

Dodger lay on the cold, hard floor, nursing his face. "Thomas" had sliced his cheeks, and then had thrown the boy back into the basement – literally. He couldn't understand why "Thomas" had only cut his cheeks but then he realised that the man was probably planning something much more sinister.

Dodger didn't know how long he was going to be down here this time, so he started trying to tend to his injuries, which wasn't easy in the pitch black.

He felt his cheek, feeling the warm blood run between his fingers. There were two cuts on his left cheek and three on his right. What was it Nancy said you had to do when you were cut? Stem the flow, that was it! Dodger pulled his coat sleeve up over his hand and placed it against the side of his face. The cuts weren't that deep, but the blood was flowing freely. He did the same with his other sleeve, placing it on his other cheek. They felt tender and ached when he touched them. Most of his body ached; his head, his ribs, his stomach and his hands. Dodger didn't know how to tend to his other injuries, mainly because of the dark, but also because he didn't know what type of injuries he had. What would he do if his bones were broken? He had no idea; why didn't someone tell you what it was like when bones were broke? At least that way he would know.

When the bleeding had slowed down, Dodger removed his hands and just lay on the floor. There wasn't much else he could do. He was so hungry his head was hurting, although that could be from where "Thomas" had thrown him against the wall, his throat was dry and felt like it was swelling up, everything hurt and he was so tired but he couldn't sleep. He wondered what Fagin, Nancy and the others were doing right now. Were they looking for him? He hoped so; he didn't know how much longer he would be able to stand it here. _'Of course they're lookin' for me,'_ he thought to himself. _'Why wouldn't they? I'm Fagin's favourite and why would they just leave me in the 'ands of some crazy bloke?" _ Then he remembered what "Thomas" had said to him the next day after he'd abducted the boy, only three days before. It had seemed much longer. Dodger had been through so much during those three days. "Thomas" had said that he had left Fagin a note that read 'Don't look for him.' The horrible realization hit Dodger like a tonne of bricks; what if "Thomas" had been lying about the contents of the note? What if, instead of that, he had put something like "Dodger will be much happier here with me."? And what if Fagin believed it and never started searching for him? Dodger didn't want to think that that was the case, but in his injury-addled state, all sorts of thoughts were racing through his head.

What if Fagin knew he had been kidnapped, but didn't care? What if he had read the note, simply tossed it aside and then carried on with his daily activities? And what if Charley, Ace and all his friends didn't care either? What if they were _happy_ that he was gone?

"No," Dodger muttered to himself, his eyes half-closed. "That's not true; Fagin needs me there, they all do. They can't get 'long without me, they can't." Another more horrible thought came into his brain: what if Fagin had planned the kidnapping? What if he was simply tired of Dodger's recklessness? Dodger had to admit, he could be very difficult at times; he knew he could be hyper, and he knew that he could be arrogant. He'd never thought there was anything wrong with that, though; the other boys were arrogant as well. Was he the most arrogant? Had Fagin simply had enough of him and devised this kidnap as a way of keeping Dodger out of his hair? "That's ridiculous; Fagin don't got that much 'air," Dodger mumbled, trying to make sense of it all. But he couldn't shake away the thoughts. "Ohhhhhhh," he groaned, covering his eyes. "It's not fair! I just wanna go 'ome!"

"Wanna go 'ome, do ya, Dawkins? Missing all your little friends, are ya, Dawkins?" Came "Thomas'" mocking voice from somewhere above him. "You'll never see them again!" he cackled, before his footsteps moved away.

Dodger did not retaliate. He wanted his brain to work properly and not make everything seem so fuzzy, not only his sight, but his thoughts as well. He wanted to be able to think straight, so he tried to get some sleep.

~ X ~

After leaving the house, Fagin, Charley and Ace walked back to the market.

"Where would 'e 'ave taken Dodge?" asked Charley.

"Maybe to another 'ouse," replied Fagin as they reached the market.

"So should we just keep lookin' in 'ouses?" questioned Ace. Fagin thought about this for a moment. Yes, they should, obviously, for Dodger had been in that house only last night. But what if they carried on looking in houses and Dodger escaped again and hid in an alleyway?

"Yes, but keep lookin' everywhere else as well. Dodger could escape again." Fagin could not believe they were actually having this conversation. This all felt so surreal; he felt as if he'd stepped into another person's life. He heard about this sort of thing all the time, but never considered the fact that it could happen to somebody he knew. It had been three days since Dodger had been taken and now that Fagin knew that he was being abused, he was even more desperate to find the boy. When Dodger had first been abducted, that niggling thought of why he was taken was always at the back of his mind. Fagin didn't want to believe that Dodger was being beaten, but somehow, he just knew. And now that he had seen the blood spatters it made it all the more terrifyingly real for him.

"Okay," muttered Ace. Similar thoughts were racing through his and Charley's heads as well. Dodger had been heard screaming, there were drops of blood on the floor; it didn't take a genius to work it out. _'I don't think we'll ever see 'im again,'_ Ace thought, glancing over at Charley. He was not as close to Dodger as Charley was and wondered what the boy would do if Dodger was never found. Secretly, Ace believed that they would never find him.

Charley's thoughts were the same, yet different. He knew he would never stop searching until he had found his friend, but he was beginning to wonder if they ever would. He had a sudden vision of himself as a middle-aged man, still wandering the streets, calling out his friend's name. The imagined scene would be humorous were it not such a depressing situation.

Charley knew they needed to act fast, but time seemed to crawl slower than a snail over the past three days; it seemed this had all been going on for weeks on end.

They decided to split up; Charley and Ace would continue searching for Dodger, and, if they met any of the other pickpockets, they would tell them what they had discovered, and Fagin would go and find Nancy, Bet, and Bill, if he could, and tell them what had been found.

As Fagin walked down the street, he spied Nancy and Bet walking together in front of him and he walked up to them with a sombre look on his face. Just as he was about to speak, Nancy interrupted him.

"Oh, my Gawd," she breathed, her eyes widening. "You've found 'im, ain't ya? 'E's 'urt, isn't 'e?" She knew something was wrong by the expression on Fagin's face. She wanted to know and at the same time, she didn't. "Is 'e -" she couldn't say it, but both Fagin and Bet knew what she was thinking.

"No, my dear, I 'aven't found 'im," he sighed. "Charley and Ace 'ad searched an 'ouse yesterday, but it was empty, and today they found out that Dodger was in it!" The women gasped.

"So, 'e'd gotten away?" asked Bet.

"But 'ow did they know?"

"They told me they asked around and one bloke said 'e saw some other bloke draggin' 'im away in the same direction. So, we went there just now and found blood spots on the floor and a woman said she 'eard Dodger screamin'," he told them.

"Oh, my goodness," said Bet faintly, placing a hand over her heart.

"Fagin, we've gotta find 'im," Nancy practically begged the man, close to tears.

"I know!" he snapped. "We're all doin' our best, but – we just can't find 'im," he concluded lamely. A sudden though struck him. "'E would still be in London, wouldn't 'e?"

"I'm sure of it," Bet reassured him. "After all, 'e was seen in the market only yesterday, wasn't it? They couldn't 'ave left London in that amount of time."

"Well, then, we'll keep lookin'," said Fagin. "Oh, and find Bill, will ya? Make sure 'e's 'elpin'." The two women nodded and walked away.

Fagin watched their retreating backs for a while, before walking down a side alley and searching it. Now that he knew that Dodger was being beaten, there was even more reason to check the bins. He didn't know what that man was planning. What was he doing to Dodger? What was he _going_ to do? As Fagin lifted a lid off one of the bins, he again recoiled. He couldn't get the sight of the spatters of blood out of his mind; he kept trying to reassure himself that Dodger was not hurt bad, after all, the drops were small. But there were so many…

He decided to get a new lock for the door, while he was out, before he forgot. He hurried into a fairly busy shop and pretended to be looking at their wares. Sneakily, so that nobody else could see, he slid a wooden lock into his pocket, one that was ready to be put on the door. Quickly looking around to make sure nobody saw him, he exited the shop and resumed searching.

Nancy and Bet had sped up their searching, if that was possible. They were going to find Bill, looking everywhere they could on the way. They found him in the Three Cripples, a pint in front of him.

"Bill! What are ya doin'? Why aren't ya out lookin' fer Dodge?" Nancy snapped.

"I _was_ lookin'," he replied coldly. "But now I'm takin' a little break."

"We don't 'ave time fer breaks!" pleaded Nancy. "Fagin's just told us that Charley and Ace found an 'ouse where Dodger was yesterday; there's blood spatters there and 'e was 'eard screamin'! Bill, 'e's 'urt! We need to find 'im now!" Bill looked at her.

"Nance," he began. Nancy opened her mouth but he cut her off. "Just 'ear me out. If that bloke doesn't want Dodge to be found, then ya probably ain't gonna find 'im."

"Bill, you can't think like that," gasped Bet. "With all of us searchin', someone's bound to find 'im."

"I'm just sayin'," Bill continued, "that ya seem to be lookin' in all the obvious places; why are ya lookin' around this area?" The two women were silent. "If I was that bloke, and I didn't wanna be found, I'd go somewhere isolated, where there was nobody else around."

"Bill, will you 'elp us?" asked Nancy.

"Oh, all right," he sighed, truly wondering why. If he was honest with himself, he thought the boy was dead and gone; no point in looking for him. But Nancy looked so desperate. "Let me finish me pint, and then I'll come."

~ X ~

Dodger was still asleep in the basement and "Thomas" was rather enjoying the peace and quiet. He sat on the floor, thinking. This boy still would not listen. Usually by now, he would be catering to "Thomas'" every whim and cowering in a corner in fear. Sure, he had put some element of fright into the child, but he still answered back like he didn't care. This boy was a stubborn one. "Thomas" wanted to just get it over with, but first he wanted to repress the boy. He wanted make the boy as meek and silent as could possibly be.

But he was such a handful; "Thomas" actually couldn't think of what to do with him, so he just decided to leave him in the basement. _'Perhaps complete isolation is the key,'_ the man thought to himself. Yes, that's what he would do, and he would also have the opportunity to get out of the house and get some more groceries.

He decided to go out now; he might as well do something with all this free time.

~ X ~

Dodger slowly opened his eyes. It was not as dark as it should be and his was confused. Then he saw that he was in the main room and both "Thomas" and Fagin were sitting in front of him, and he sat up sharply, ignoring the throbbing pains all over his body.

"Fagin!" he gasped. "You found me!" He was perplexed to see the elderly man looked most unimpressed.

"Indeed I 'ave, my _dear_," he sneered.

"Well, what are ya waitin' for? Let's go!" Dodger was slightly alarmed that Fagin did not seem pleased to see him, and that he didn't seem to care that Dodger was clearly badly hurt.

"Go? You're not goin' anywhere," said the old man, still sneering. Dodger knew something was wrong now. "Oh, did I not tell you? You're gonna stay 'ere forever," said Fagin, smiling toothily, a few teeth missing.

"No! What? But why? What's goin' on?" Dodger grabbed his head in frustration. Fagin crawled towards the boy and pushed his face close to his.

"I've 'ad enough of ya, Dodger!" he spat.

"Why? What've I done?" Dodger cried, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"What _aven't_ ya done would be a better question!" the elderly man snapped. "I'm sick and tired of you, so me and me friend 'ere," he gestured to "Thomas" who grinned at Fagin, "cooked up this little scheme to just get rid of ya. But 'e tells me it ain't all goin' accordin' to plan, so I've decided to 'elp 'im out."

"You don't mean...?" Dodger couldn't finish his sentence. This couldn't be real. Fagin couldn't be in alliance with "Thomas" could he? What had he done that was so bad that could make Fagin want to get rid of him? "Please don't do this, Fagin," he said, moving away as they both stood up. "What did I do? Tell me! Whatever it was, I'm sorry!" He tried to make him see reason. But they both walked towards him and circled him, shouting out insults that echoed in his head.

"Useless!"

"Worthless little scum!"

"Death's too good for ya!"

"Pathetic!"

Dodger bowed his head and covered his face with his hands, trying to ignore their cruel jibes.

"Aw, are ya gonna cry?" came a mocking voice somewhere above him, then the boy felt a shove, pushing him sideways.

"All ya do is ruin everything!" Fagin's voice screeched at him.

"You're no good!"

"I wish I'd never seen ya!"

"Yer not wanted! Nobody wants ya! _Nobody's ever wanted ya!_"

"Stop it! _Stop it!_" Dodger cried, unable to take any more. But they wouldn't listen and carried on taunting him. Why did Fagin hate him so much? What had he done? He looked up and saw they were both standing right above him menacingly...

Dodger's eyes snapped open and he stared about him, gasping for breath. It had all been a dream. But such a terrifyingly real dream. Did Fagin really think that of him? No, he wouldn't do that, would he? _'No,'_ he told himself firmly. _'It was just a dream. Fagin wouldn't do that,' _he tried to reassure himself, but he couldn't stop thinking about his dream. _'If Fagin wanted to get rid of me, 'e woulda done it a long time ago,'_ he told himself, feeling a little bit better.

He listened for any sounds of movement above him, but heard nothing. Maybe "Thomas" was asleep? If he was, and if Dodger could open the trapdoor, then maybe he could escape. He slowly sat up, groaning inwardly at the pain in his ribs and started to crawl over to the stairs again. Luckily, he was not too far from them and he began crawling up the stairs until he reached the top. Looking up, he lifted his hand and pushed on the door, which unsurprisingly, didn't budge. A look of determination crossing his face, he lifted his other hand and pushed with that as well. The trapdoor still didn't move. Dodger wondered what "Thomas" did to weigh it down.

He stood up, going back down a few steps so as not to hit his head, placed both hands on the door and heaved, achieving nothing except sharp pains in his stomach and abdomen. There was no way Dodger was getting out of there in his current condition. It seemed the only thing he could do was wait until he was physically stronger and then try again.

Dodger went back down the stairs, curled up in a little corner, not an easy task for him, and fixed his eyes upon the door.

~ X ~

"Thomas" casually strolled through the market, a lot calmer now that he knew there was no way of the boy escaping. He had been foolish last time, leaving him all alone in that house, where there were several windows. "Thomas" had mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. But now, the boy was locked in a windowless basement; he couldn't think of any way the boy could get out of there, unless he suddenly developed the strength of a lion, which was more than unlikely.

The man made his way to a nearby stall which was selling delicious smelling currant buns and bread rolls. "Thomas" had a rather weak spot for currant buns, so he strolled over to the stall and bought as many of them as he could, picking up a few bread rolls as well.

The last time he had gone food shopping was only a day ago, and that had ended in disaster, and "Thomas" had deliberately eaten all the food he had bought, not only to teach the boy a lesson, but also to prevent it from spoiling. This time, however, he hoped to have more control.

He also bought a loaf of bread and a large slab of cheese, along with some water, filled up with a bucket from the local fountain.

"Thomas" also bought some very fine cuts of meat from the local butchers' and as he was exiting the shop, two boys crossed his path. Halting so that he did not collide with them, "Thomas'" lip curled into a sneer at their lack of consideration for the people around them, and then he heard snippets of what they were saying.

"...been missin' for three days..."

"... said the kidnapper could be anyone..." Eyes narrowing slightly, "Thomas" wondered if these boys were acquaintances of Jack Dawkins. It was very likely; from what he had seen, there had been more than a few boys where Dawkins resided. Then again, they might be talking about somebody completely different. "Thomas" shrugged it off and headed back to the house, walking slowly.

He wondered what the little brat was doing, locked up in the basement. Probably sleeping. Oh, well, he didn't care so long as there was peace and quiet when he returned.

He re-entered the house, pausing at the silence that greeted him. The silence was slightly unnerving and "Thomas" found himself striding through the house to where the basement was to make sure the boy had not escaped. He stopped when he saw the paving slab still covered the trapdoor and smiled slightly. A thought of the boy escaping and placing the slab back over the trapdoor entered his mind, but "Thomas" shook it away. It wouldn't be possible. He turned on his heel and strode back into the main room.

His boredom and curiosity got the better of him and he decided to go and see if Dawkins was awake. He lit a candle (he had found several in the house and thought himself lucky) and picked up the smallest grocery bag and placed it in his pocket, pulled the paving slab out of the way and opened the trapdoor.

Bending down, he saw Dawkins curled up in the corner directly in front of the stairs, apparently asleep. But as he walked over, the boy opened his eyes and groaned.

"Oh, what do _you_ want?" he moaned. "Thomas" stopped in his tracks.

"Well, that's certainly no way to talk to your provider!" he retorted. Dodger snorted.

"Some provider(!)"

"Oh, tut, tut, this simply will not do," replied "Thomas," looking down at the boy who was still lying on the floor. "I really can't have this behaviour from you. After all, you know that disobedient children get no rewards, right? And you know _my_ rules, don't you?" Dodger said nothing. "Wouldn't want _this_ to go to waste, now would we?" the man finished, pulling the grocery bag out of his pocket and pulling out a currant bun. Again, Dodger stared at it. "Still not hungry?" asked "Thomas." "I find that rather hard to believe; it's been three days." He took a bite, deliberately savouring it, and then held it towards the boy, just out of his reach.

His head swimming, Dodger raised himself up, supporting his body with his arms and pulled himself forward. He reached out for the bun, but "Thomas" pulled it away before he could grab it. Dodger pulled himself forward again and it seemed that "Thomas" had had enough of taunting the boy as he didn't twitch it out of his reach again, allowing Dodger to grab hold of it. The boy pulled it towards him and sunk his teeth into the bread, savouring the taste and the feeling of food. But when he swallowed, he discovered his throat was much drier than he thought and he had to swallow several times and found he was soon short of breath. He sat up, leaned forward and swallowed several times before coughing loudly. He needed a drink; he thought that if his throat wasn't so dry, it would be easier to eat. Dodger swallowed some more, ineffectively.

He looked at the slightly squashed bun in his hands; he wanted it but he was afraid of the repercussions. But it looked so tempting and he was so hungry. He decided to just take his chances and eat it anyway, but as he brought it up to his mouth, "Thomas" snatched it out of his hands.

"I think that is quite enough," he said none-too-kindly, walking back up the stairs, leaving Dodger sitting there, a miserable look on his face.

As "Thomas" placed the paving slab back over the trapdoor, he thought about what he had just witnessed; the boy was having difficulty eating and swallowing. Classic signs of dehydration. He should know; he'd experienced this before. Now, as he made his way back to the living-room, he began to ponder: should he leave the boy like this, or let him eat? He couldn't decide.

~ X ~

Another one finished! Remember, you know I like reviews!


	9. Chapter 9

I know, I know; I've been terrible with my updates; while I was writing this, we performed Commedia dell'Arte, (Italian comedy – Google search it; you'll find that Fagin is Pantalone, while Joey from "_Friends_" is Harlequin.) Anyway, I was the female Pierrot, Pierrette, and I was dressed as a nun! We actually wrote the script ourselves.

Perfect Crime?

Chapter nine

Charley and Ace were still wandering about, searching for their friend. They hadn't found any of the others boys yet, so they'd had no-one to break the news to.

"I can't believe this is 'appenin'," muttered Charley, as he strode down an alleyway, bending down to peer behind the rubbish.

"What?" said Ace, doing the same as Charley.

"This! Can ya actually believe we're lookin' through rubbish to find our mate? It don't seem real."

"I know what ya mean," replied the other boy. "I never thought summat like this would 'appen to any of us."

"Imagine 'ow poor Dodge is feelin'," muttered Charley gloomily as they exited the alley.

"I know. I reckon 'e'll still be tryna get away."

"It's the only thing ya can do though, ain't it?" Charley spotted a tall man stride past him, wearing a long overcoat and he suddenly remembered what Fagin had told them seemingly weeks ago:

'_So, what I want ya to do, is if ya see a tall man with a long black coat and black 'at, trail him. Follow 'im where-ever 'e goes, maybe one of ya will get lucky.' _He nudged Ace, "I'm gonna follow 'im," he whispered, nodding his head in the direction of the man. "Remember what Fagin said about following people in case they 'ave Dodger?" he added upon seeing Ace's confusing look.

"Oh, right, I remember now. But do ya really think that bloke would just be walkin' about on the streets?" he questioned, running slightly to catch up with Charley.

"Well, if 'e locked Dodger up 'e could go out," the boy replied. "I mean, they gotta 'ave food, right?"

Ace did not reply. Instead, they both silently trailed the man, scenarios of what could be racing through their heads.

Charley envisioned himself peering through a grubby window and seeing his friend inside. Then, super-strength would overtake take him and he would burst inside, his sudden appearance startling the kidnapper. Dodger would realise his friends had come to save and the three of them would take off, outrunning the older man. Charley sincerely hoped this would be the case, but a darker picture entered his mind.

He pictured Dodger lying on the floor, conscious but unmoving. The door had been locked and the only way in would be through forced entry. He pictured Ace holding off the kidnapper while he pulled his friend up and along, only Dodger couldn't move and the kidnapper took him and Ace hostage as well…

Charley shuddered involuntarily.

A similar dark picture was in Ace's mind as well. Only he was imagining the worst. He truly believed that Dodger was not okay in the least, but how could he voice his thoughts to Charley, to whom Dodger was like a brother?

Both were silent as they followed the man to a fairly nice-looking house and they glanced at each other? Surely a kidnapper wouldn't live here? But, then again, appearances can be deceiving.

Ace looked into the window at the front of the house, while Charley ran through to the back and looked in the windows there. He didn't see anything, so he searched the garden, his hopes rising as he imagined Dodger escaping and hiding. He looked in the bins, he poked through the tall grass and looked in the bushes. Nothing.

While Charley was doing this, Ace had knocked on the door and the man they had been following answered it. He looked rather foreboding, Ace thought, like he was not one to be crossed. He had removed his overcoat and was dressed in somewhat ordinary clothes, according to the boy. But now that he thought of it, he didn't really know what he expected the kidnapper to dress like.

"Yes, what is it?" the man asked.

"'Ave you seen a boy with brown 'air, wearin' a blue tailcoat?" he asked at last.

"No, can't say that I have. Why?"

"'E's been kidnapped. Three days ago." Charley had now joined him. Two children, a boy and a girl, had crept out into the hallway and were listening in on the conversation.

"Oh, I see. Well, I'll be sure to keep my eye out for 'im."

"Thanks," Charley muttered, walking away with Ace.

"What did those boys' want, Papa?" asked the man's little daughter, as he closed the door.

"They wanted to know if we'd seen their friend; they can't find him," he told her.

"Oh."

~ X ~

Nancy, Bill and Bet had taken a cart past the outskirts of their town, to cover more ground.

"Right, I think we should split up," decided Nancy. "We'll cover as much as we can and we'll meet back 'ere at sunset."

"Okay," Bet agreed while Bill merely raised his eyes skyward.

"Oh, an' remember what Fagin said; to trail suspicious lookin' people," Nancy reminded them before turning on her heel and striding away from them.

"Yer not really gonna do this, are ya?" Bill asked Bet, who was about to walk off. She stopped and looked at him.

"Ya mean, look fer Dodge? I most certainly am," she looked at him, curiosity written all over her face. "Don't you want to?"

"No, 'cause I think 'e's dead, to be honest," he said frankly. Bet's eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

"What makes you say that?" she gasped. "There's every chance 'e's still alive!"

"I 'ighly doubt that. Look, Bet," he said, coming closer. "Why do ya think 'e was taken? 'Cause it sure as 'ell weren't for laughs."

"But Bill," Bet cut in. She didn't want to believe that Dodger was hurt in any way, shape or form, even though she had been told that he was, for she was fond of the cheeky boy. "There's no reason to believe the worst."

"There's every reason," Bill insisted flatly. "People like this bloke 'ave sick minds and, for whatever reason, 'e's gonna wanna make Dodger suffer. If 'e 'asn't killed 'im by now, ya can be sure 'e will soon."

"Stop!" cried Bet. "Don't be so negative!"

"I'm bein' realistic," he said bluntly. "Look, Nancy's got it into 'er 'ead that 'e's gonna be found alive and well, and I know 'e won't be. 'E won't be found alive; when was the last time a kidnapped kid was found alive, eh? 'E might not even be found at all. And I know that when that 'appens, Nancy'll fall apart; she'll be crushed, for some reason. I want ya to tell 'er what I've said."

"...Why can't you tell her?" the woman asked, finally finding her voice; she had never seen Bill like this.

"Because she'll listen to you." Bet merely nodded and the conversation was over, though she herself didn't believe what he had said, Nancy certainly wouldn't believe a word of it.

Bet walked off, deciding to tell Nancy when they all met up again at sunset. She wondered where to look, apart from from the obvious alleys, bushes, deserted places, etc. She didn't see anybody who looked suspicious enough to follow, and she wondered what a kidnapper would look like. Her previous conversation with Bill drifted back into her mind, _"'e's gonna wanna make Dodger suffer," _and her eyes lowered. She didn't want to think of Dodger suffering.

Bill watched her walk away for a while, before turning and walking in the opposite direction. He didn't think he should bother to search; what would be the point in looking for a dead body? Although, if the boy was found sooner, dead or alive (although Bill severely doubted that he would be) the sooner everything would just get back to normal; everybody would stop moping around, they would actually go out and get some work done and he would have something to do with his life again.

Bill wondered if he ought to find Nancy, as he wondered what would happen if she uncovered Dodger's dead body casually dumped somewhere. He knew she would fall to pieces and, honestly, he couldn't see why; Dodger was just another irritating child who was too smart and sneaky for his own good and never knew when to shut his mouth. Although he was a skilled pickpocket.

He decided not to go and find Nancy after all, certain that they wouldn't find anything. Bill thought it would be more likely that they would never see Dodger again, dead or alive, rather than finding him in any condition.

~ X ~

Fagin was trying a different method of searching for the pickpocket; he was walking up to every single door and knocking on it, asking whoever answered for information. He repeated this at every door he came upon, determined not to miss any out. As he walked to the next door, he imagined if Dodger was in one of these houses. Just the thought of it made his pulse quicken with anticipation and he walked faster to the door and rapped upon it.

"Yes, can I help you?" inquired the young woman who answered. She had the door open just wide enough to see her face, and Fagin couldn't help thinking that it was to hide Dodger, although he told himself that it was merely because she felt a little bit intimidated. Besides, he knew if Dodger was in there, he'd be making a racket. He hoped.

"Yes. 'Ave ya seen an eleven-year-old boy wearin' a blue tailcoat, with brown 'air and eyes?" The woman tilted her head to the side as she thought.

"No, can't say that I have. Sorry. Why, have you lost him?"

"No, 'e was kidnapped three days ago," he told her.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that. I'll be sure to keep an eye out for him," she promised.

"Okay. Well, thank you," he muttered before walking away and making his way to the next house. The woman walked into the living-room, where the rest of her family, her sister and her parents were sat.

"Who was that at the door, Emma?" asked her older sister Grace, barely looking up from her sewing. Her mother was helping by threading needles and her father was reading a book and smoking a pipe.

"It was a gentleman asking me if I had seen a boy with brown hair, brown eyes and wearing a blue tailcoat," she replied, taking a seat opposite her sister. "He told me that he had been kidnapped." This caused her sister and mother to look up.

"Oh, how dreadful!" Grace exclaimed and her mother nodded in agreement. "I can't imagine who would want to do that."

"Did you say _blue _tailcoat?" asked Frank, her father, leaning forward.

"That's what the man said, yes. Why?"

"It's just – I'm almost certain that I saw a boy wearing a blue tailcoat at the market only yesterday."

"...Do you think the man was lying, then?" Emma asked after a pause.

"I don't think anybody would be that low as to lie about something as serious as kidnap," Frank told her solemnly. "I only saw the boy for a fleeting second; I didn't pay him no mind, but he didn't appear to be in any danger."

"Maybe you saw the wrong boy. After all, there must be dozens of boys out there with brown hair and eyes and blue coats," reasoned Grace.

"Do you think we should go and tell the man?" asked Emma.

"Yes, all right. It might not be the boy, but then again it might be, and I would feel terribly guilty if he missed an opportunity to be rescued. Yes, go and find him, Emma." Emma nodded and ran out of the door. She saw Fagin two doors down from her walking away and she chased after him.

"Sir! Wait, sir!" she called, and caught up with him. Face-to-face once again, she took in his haggard appearance this time; Fagin's half-open eyes had dark circles around them and they were red slightly. His bushy red hair was all over the place and his shoulders were slumped. "My father thinks he might have seen the child you told me about." He immediately perked up.

"Where? When?"

"I'm sorry I can't give you much information, sir," she apologised. "He simply said that he saw a boy wearing a blue tailcoat yesterday, but he only saw him for a second." In that instant, Fagin's face fell and his hopes dropped.

"Okay. Well, thank you for tellin' me again," he mumbled, turning to walk away again, his shoulders drooping, and Emma, feeling so sorry for this poor old man and feeling she had to do _something_, ran after him again and tapped him on the shoulder.

"If it's any help to you, myself and my family will now be on the lookout for this boy," she told him. "And I promise you that if we find him, we will keep him safe here with us until you can take him back home with you again." Fagin looked at her and could tell she genuinely meant what she said.

"Thank you," he said, more sincere this time. "Will it be alright if some of me friends knock everyday 'ere for information?"

"No, not at all," she replied and then pulled the confused man into a hug. "I hope you find him soon," she said, releasing him. He nodded and then walked to the next door, while Emma went in and told her family about helping to look for the boy and that they would be expecting visitors most likely every day from now on. They weren't bothered and praised her for performing a good deed.

Fagin knocked upon the door, wondering but not expecting for the occupant or occupants inside to say "yes, I know where he is." He wished that would happen, but he knew that it was unlikely. But still, they might have seen him.

"Yes?" said the man who opened the door.

"You wouldn't 'ave 'appened to 'ave seen an eleven-year-old boy with brown 'air, brown eyes and is wearin' a blue tailcoat?" he asked politely. He was getting a bit annoyed with continuously asking all these individuals. He felt like screaming it to the world; _"AS ANYONE SEEN A BOY WEARIN' A BLUE TAILCOAT, WITH BROWN 'AIR AND BROWN EYES?!" _Just like the woman before him, the man paused and pondered.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Oh, okay. It's just that 'e's been kidnapped."

"Really? How long ago?"

"Three days ago." The man looked at him for a while, obviously thinking.

"Have youtried contacting the newspapers?" he asked eventually and Fagin was admittedly stumped for a moment.

"Newspapers?" he asked blankly. "Uh-" but he was cut off.

"Yes. You can tell them, and then they will print the story so that more people will know about it. They can print a picture or a sketch of the boy, and that would help, as more people would be aware." Fagin was silent. It made sense; if more people knew about Dodger, the quicker and easier he would be recognised. Why didn't he think of this before?

"Thank you. I'll see what I can do," he said to the man.

"Good luck!" he said as Fagin turned his back. Fagin turned and nodded his head in acknowledgement before continuing down the path. Another thought had entered his head now; that it would be bad for Dodger to have any kind of publicity, because he was a pickpocket. If he did tell the newspapers and Dodger was recognised from that, then he would get recognised when he went back out on the game. _'What am I thinkin'?'_ Fagin thought furiously to himself. _'What does it matter if Dodger becomes too well-known to go back out on the job again? I don't care if the 'ole world watches 'is every move for the rest of 'is life; I just want 'im back.' _

Then Fagin found himself genuinely wondering if it would really help splashing Dodger's face all over the papers. What good would it do having the entirety of London knowing his face if he was locked up, as Fagin supposed he would be? And what if Dodger's kidnapper saw the paper and decided it would be too risky to keep the boy alive? Fagin couldn't decide if publicity would do more harm than good. His top priority was Dodger and if publicising the kidnapping meant putting Dodger's life at risk, then he simply wouldn't do it. Just to be sure, he made a mental note to talk it over with Bill, Nancy, Bet and the boys before he made any decisions.

~ X ~

Nancy walked down the unfamiliar street, deciding to first search any places Dodger would be likely to hide in if he managed to escape again. She felt odd in this town; maybe Dodger was closer to home than they thought? But then again, maybe he wasn't.

When was the last time she had seen Dodger? It was about four days before he was kidnapped, so she hadn't seen him for a whole week now. She wished she had spent more time with him and she wondered what he would be like the next time she saw him. Would he be strutting about the warehouse? Would he be lying in a hospital bed the next time she saw him? _'_If_ I ever see 'im again,_' she thought but quickly stopped herself; she had to remain positive. What would she do if she found him? What would she do if she found him badly hurt? She hoped that of such a situation did arise and she found the poor boy injured that she would be able to keep it together and stay calm for Dodger's sake. She knew that if she got upset and hysterical, he might as well. She hoped that she would be able to help the boy and had a sudden vision of herself holding his hand and smoothing back his hair. Dodger looked okay in her vision, she randomly noted, making a sharp left turn into an alleyway. As she searched through the bushes and bins, she thought about what kind of injuries Dodger might have. She didn't want to think about it, but she couldn't stop the thoughts from entering her brain. As she had been previously searching with Bet, the two women would chat about Dodger and that was usually enough to keep from thinking about things like this. Nancy wondered if he was hurt badly. She didn't want to think so.

Exiting the alley, she continued to search as she thought about the pickpocket. The way he would always win at poker; every time he won he was just as giddy as the first time. The way he acted older beyond his years. The way he had once snuck into a theatre and had fooled theatre-goers into thinking he was an usher of some sort and they had turned their money over to him. Fagin had been furious when Dodger returned late – until he emptied his pockets. Nancy smiled as she remembered Fagin recounting that story to her.

Nancy thought about the way he would smile when he was praised; he tried to act as if it was no big deal, but she could tell it really pleased him. He had been so... happy, yes that was the right word, the last time she had seen him. He'd had a good day concerning pickpocket victims, and he just seemed to her to be really vibrant and smiley. Would he ever be that way again? Nancy couldn't imagine Dodger being anything but outgoing, confident and well, artful.

~ X ~

It seemed sunset came very quickly that day, for Nancy couldn't believe she had been searching for the better part of the day.

"Anything?" she asked hopefully, as she met up with Bill and Bet.

"No, nothing," replied Bet and Bill only shook his head.

"Maybe Fagin or one of the boys found 'im," she muttered, hailing a passing carriage. They would have walked but it was too far and they were too tired. One by one, they clambered in, barely remembering to give the address and the carriage set off. Bill glanced meaningfully at Bet; silently asking her if she had told Nancy about their earlier conversation and she shook her head.

"Nance," Bill cleared his throat and she looked over at him. "Bet and I were talkin' earlier and I'm startin' to think we should call off the search." The look she gave him... he knew this would happen.

"Bill, 'ow can ya say summat like that?" she asked. "'Ow can we stop lookin' for 'im when there's the biggest chance that 'e's still alive?"

"'E won't be alive for long," the man insisted. "I don't want ya to 'ave to deal with seein' 'is body."

"Bill, I appreciate what yer tryna do, but... I love Dodge like 'e's me own and I will never stop searchin' for 'im until 'e's back with Fagin. What if Dodge was our son, eh? What would ya do?"

"First off, I wouldn't be careless enough to get ya pregnant. Second, I would make sure the 'ouse was secure! I mean, what was Fagin thinkin'? Anyone could get through that door!"

"Don't blame this on Fagin," pleaded Bet. "No-one regrets this more than 'e."

"Well, it's 'is fault; that place 'as been standin' for decades; the least 'e coulda done was get a decent lock."

"'E knows that, Bill, an' 'e's been regrettin' it ever since Dodge was taken." Then there was silence for the rest of the journey. When they arrived at Fagin's, both women jumped out of the carriage and ran the few one hundred or so feet to the warehouse whilst Bill muttered a few choice words to the carriage driver, who promptly jerked at the reigns and disappeared.

When they had knocked on the door and had uttered the password, it swung open to reveal Charley.

"I'm guessin' ya don't 'ave 'im," said Nancy, noticing his face.

"I could say the same to you," he answered, stepping aside to let them in. As they entered the main room, they could only stare; it was silent. Everybody was sat down either at the table, squashed up on the two ratty, leather sofas or on the floor, all wearing the same downtrodden expression. Fagin was sat at the head of the table with his head in his hands, Dodger's top hat in front of him. He didn't notice the three entering the room. It sounded silly, but the first thing he wanted to do when he found Dodger was put his hat back on his head.

Bill cleared his throat and Fagin looked up.

"Oh, I'm glad you're 'ere," he said. "I've 'ad an idea, but I wanted to wait until we were all 'ere," he gestured for them to sit and they did so. "First things first, did you find anythin'?" he asked quickly.

"No," Nancy muttered, wondering if she ought to tell him about what Bill had said. She decided not to.

"Okay. Well, I was talkin' to a bloke today and 'e said that I should tell the newspapers so that more people will know. I've thought and thought but I just can't decide whether it would be good or bad. What do ya think?"

"Bad? 'Ow could it be bad?" said Charley, who had made his way over to Fagin. "The more people who know, the sooner 'e'll be found. I say, let's do it!"

"That's what I thought at first, my dear," said Fagin. "But then I thought; what if Dodger is kept locked up? Is it really worth 'avin' 'is picture all over London if 'e never gets out?"

"'E might do, though," insisted Charley, almost overjoyed at the prospect of speeding up this rescue. "'E did before."

"I also thought: what if Dodger's kidnapper sees it and decides that 'e can't keep Dodger alive no more?" The room fell even more silent, if that was possible.

"I don't think we should tell the papers," muttered Charley, and everyone else mumbled their agreements.

"Imagine 'ow poor Dodge is feelin'," said Ace and the atmosphere changed.

"Do ya think 'e knows we're lookin' for 'im?"

"'Course. What else would 'e be thinkin'?" Charley scoffed. Again, the room was silent, the occupants thinking about Dodger and what he might be going through.

"Do ya think 'e's 'urt?" asked one of the younger boys and Fagin looked at him, and then at Charley and Ace.

"Well," Ace began slowly. "Me and Charley was askin' about Dodge yesterday and some bloke said 'e'd seen 'im, so we went in the direction 'e said and came to an 'ouse that we'd looked in the day before." He was cut off by the chatter of the other boys.

"'E'd escaped?"

"'E was at the market? We could've 'ad 'im!"

"So we went back to the 'ouse," Ace raised his voice and the hubbub died down. "But it was empty and there was blood spatters on the floor and the people next door said they 'eard 'im screamin'." The chatter immediately started up again, this time enraged.

"Didn't they do anythin' about it?"

"No," said Charley. "Apparently, there was _'nothin' they could do,'_" he again mocked the woman, anger blazing in his eyes. If it weren't for the incompetence of that couple, Dodger could be here with them right now!

"What?" With the exception of Bill, every person in the room was outraged, including Fagin, Nancy and Bet, who had heard it all before. Once again, the chatter descended into silence.

"I can't believe I've never thought of it before!" gasped Bet, sitting up straight, suddenly. Everyone stared at her.

"What?"

"What is it?"

"Tell us!"

"Well, I remember readin', a long time ago mind you, about children who are kidnapped and are sold into slavery and rich families," she said.

"You don't think -?" Fagin didn't finish his sentence. "It's impossible," he suddenly declared. "Otherwise..." again, he didn't finish.

"You think that's why Dodge was taken?" Nancy asked her friend.

"Just as a possibility," she answered. "Sometimes – I read this as well – there are couples who just want a child and they pay people to kidnap children for them."

"Well, that didn't 'appen," said Ace loudly. "Well, think about it," he continued when everyone stared at him. "If they just wanted a child, why would they beat 'im?"

"Ace is right," said Fagin. "But that's really interestin' information you've given us, Bet. I think that, starting tomorrow, we should start knockin' on doors and ask if they've taken on any child labourers."

~ X ~

It's finished! I hope you enjoyed this one. I'm hoping to get the next chapter up quicker, but as you're reading this, I've been cast as Dolly in our college production of "Anna Karenina."

Changing subject, I still like my reviews, lol!


	10. Chapter 10

Hey, guys! Another chapter for you. I want to say thank you to everyone who's reviewed my story – it really means a lot to me. Thank you:

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You guys are all amazing!

And about the slow updates, I know, I'm terrible, but I took a break from writing this (and some others on the side) to concentrate on my college work. Although writing 1,000 word essays are easy to me, it's the grading; I really wanted to get my grades up, since our college grading system is terrible: all your final work goes to your lowest mark, so you could get top marks in every assignment but one, and all your work would have the lowest grade on it. It really annoys me!

So, I hope this makes up for my tardiness.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 10

Dodger lay on his back with his eyes half open, staring at his upturned left hand resting on the grimy floor beside him. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a loose fist, and then uncurled them. He tilted his head as he sluggishly wriggled his thumb, and then his pointer finger, watching in fascination how they moved seemingly of their own accord. It felt to him as if they weren't attached to his body.

He didn't know how much time had passed since "Thomas" had last been down; it seemed like forever to him. How many days had it been since he had been taken? Would he be found alive? Would he even be found at all? Or would he just lie here until the end of time?

Dodger was trying so hard to remain optimistic, he was trying to maintain his belief that Fagin was looking for him and wouldn't give up until he had been found. But it was getting harder for Dodger to hold onto that faith, especially considering he had no sense of time. He had no idea how long he'd been in the clutches of this maniac, and being locked up and isolated didn't help matters.

A distant sound above him caused him to look up at the ceiling; it sounded to him as if a dozen marbles were rolling across the floor above him. The sound became harsher and clearer and Dodger realized it was raining.

"Rain," he murmured, resuming examining his hand. "Rain, rain, rain. It's rainin', it's pourin'. Never liked the rain; it's wet, and I 'ave 'oles in me shoes so me feet get wet," Dodger barely comprehended the fact that he was talking to himself, but he found that once he started, he couldn't stop. "I wonder if there'll be a storm? I like storms," He looked back up to the ceiling as he heard footsteps and he couldn't help but feel just a tiny bit disappointed when the trapdoor remained closed. As much as he hated "Thomas," he was desperate for some company. "Wish I 'adn't 'id down 'ere now," the boy muttered as if there was somebody else in the room. "Do ya think 'e's forgotten I'm down 'ere?" Dodger stopped talking as he again heard footsteps. When they receded, he didn't resume his one-sided conversation. Instead he thought.

He thought about "Thomas" and why he had taken him. Dodger wondered what he could have done to make the man want to kill him. It couldn't be a pickpocket victim out for revenge, surely? The boy started mentally picking apart what little he knew about his abductor for clues. He knew for definite it wasn't his father; these two men were completely different looks-wise. Besides, his father didn't even live in this part of London, not to mention he was an alcoholic and a far as he knew; "Thomas" had never touched the stuff. He'd bought water, Dodger noted, remembering hearing the man loudly list every item he had purchased at the market once out of the basement, clearly for Dodger's benefit.

"Thomas" must be rich, thought the boy; he'd never known anyone who'd had clean water before. Maybe he had seen Dodger pick someone's pocket and wanted to teach him a lesson? Even in his head, it sounded ridiculous to Dodger, who couldn't believe that trying to survive was a justifiable reason to be killed. If, indeed, that was why he was taken.

Try as he might, Dodger now couldn't stop all these thoughts from racing around his head. He didn't want to think about the situation any more as he was very tired. He turned his head back to the side and fell asleep.

Upstairs, "Thomas" was getting ready to go sleep. Unlike the previous house, there was no mattress (or anything else, for that matter,) to be found, so he merely curled up on the living-room floor, using his coat as a blanket. He had decided to not let Dodger eat at the present time, preferring to leave him in his current state. He thought about where he would take the boy next; although they were quite isolated, they were only about an hours' walk from the outskirts of the town where Dawkins lived. It felt risky for them to be here, "Thomas," thought, remembering the two boys from earlier. It was too coincidental for them not to know the boy and he wanted them to be further away where no-one would find them. He decided to think more about it tomorrow.

Before he dropped off, he made a mental note to not let the boy get too much sleep. A sleep deprived child is easier to control, he reminded himself, before drifting into sleep. Fortunately for him, "Thomas" had the clever ability to wake himself whenever he chose, so depriving Dodger of some much-needed sleep would be an easy task for him to accomplish.

~ X ~

Back at the warehouse, everyone was getting ready for bed. Fagin had told them about the house he had knocked at and that they were to knock there every day from now on.

Bill, Bet and Nancy were spending the night there as well, as they felt it was much too late for them to be walking back now.

However, instead of going straight to sleep, Nancy took a seat opposite Fagin. The elderly man hadn't moved from his chair since they'd arrived, and the boys had thankfully decided not to give him any hassle tonight and had slipped quietly off to bed immediately after he'd barked the order.

The old Jew was slowly turning Dodger's top hat over and over in his hands.

"I remember when he first got this 'at," he said suddenly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It was a short while after you brought 'im 'ere, Nance, and it was a cold, winters day, and 'e came flouncin' in with this 'uge 'at on 'is 'ead and lookin' so proud. 'E told me that every respectable gentleman needed an 'at and 'e chose this one 'cause 'that's what the gents wear',"

"'E's kept it on everyday ever since," said Nancy, looking at the hat. Fagin paused for a moment.

"Where is 'e, Nance?" he asked desperately.

"I wish I knew, for then I would bring 'im 'ere immediately."

"Why was it 'im who was taken? What does that bloke want with 'im?"

"Please stop askin' me these questions; 'ow am I to know the answers?!" she cried. Bet put her hand on her arm and she quietened.

"Forgive me, Nancy, I jus' want 'im back."

"I, too, Fagin. I can't bear to think of someone 'urtin' 'im."

"Nor I -" Fagin was cut off by a loud snore and the three adults looked around in unison only to find Bill fast asleep on one of the cots.

"I think it's time we all went to bed," said Bet. "And be ready for another full day of searchin'." Nancy agreed but Fagin was still looking at Bill.

"It's like 'e don't even care," he muttered, shaking his head before standing, still holding Dodger's hat and moving toward his bed. Both Nancy and Bet looked at one another, silently agreeing to tell him what Bill had proposed in the morning.

~ X ~

"Thomas" awoke, rolled onto his back and stretched his arms. He didn't know what time it was, but he knew it must be late; the stillness in the air that only came during that certain time of the night told him. He stood up and made his way into the next room and over to where the trapdoor was. "Thomas" was about to open it when he remembered about keeping the boy in total isolation; once he let the child out after a good few days, he would hopefully be so desperate for human contact that he would be much easier to control.

So he didn't go down there, but he also remembered about withholding sleep from the young pickpocket as well.

Dodger awoke with a gasp as deafening thuds resonated above him. It sounded as if the house was falling down. If it did, he hoped "Thomas" remembered he was down here. Dodger pulled himself over to where the stairs where and curled in the corner, hoping to escape the worst of the destruction if the house did cave in. The thudding and creaking appeared to be speeding up and Dodger found himself wondering what it would be like when his body was uncovered; he couldn't really see "Thomas" saving him, he would most likely save himself and leave him to perish. Would Fagin and the boys find out? Or would they keep looking for him in an endless, fruitless search? The ground beneath him seemed to be shaking now and Dodger pulled himself up the steps, hoping to get out, hoping that "Thomas" would at least remove the slab.

"Open the door!" he cried, pounding on the trapdoor when he reached the top.

Meanwhile, "Thomas" was rather enjoying distressing the boy as he stamped and jumped about the kitchen. Then, as suddenly as he started, he stopped, exited the room and went back to sleep. Dodger pressed his ear to the door worriedly, but heard nothing. Had he gone deaf? He knocked on the door to make sure he was still able to hear and, after confirming he did indeed still have his hearing, he waited a moment of silence, and he slid back down the stairs to the corner where he lay with his eyes affixed to the ceiling. What had just happened? Did the house collapse? Dodger hadn't heard anything crashing upstairs, so it had to have been something else. But what? He did not go back to sleep; he was too afraid. Instead he lay awake until morning with his eyes glued to the ceiling.

~ X ~

Like "Thomas," Fagin also had the ability to wake whenever he chose and he woke earlier than usual; the sun had barely risen and decided it was time to wake the boys'. The elderly man found it difficult to get a full nights' sleep anyway; he kept having disturbing dreams about Dodger. Dreams of him without a head, dreams of him with missing limbs. He sincerely hoped, more than anything, that these dreams weren't premonitions. He made a mental note to discuss them with Nancy and Bet later on in the day, to see if they too were having unsettling dreams as well.

"Right, come on, get up, all of ya!" he hollered, marching about the den, shaking some of the lazier children awake. "Ya need to spread the search even further; we ain't gettin' nowhere!"

Nancy and Bet were conscious now and were helping to rouse the boys'. Naturally, the uncaring Bill stayed sleeping. The pickpockets', bleary-eyed, stumbled out of their respective beds and over to the scrubbed wooden table, waiting for breakfast, which the two women were quickly whipping up.

Dodger's bed lay empty, still untouched from the night he was abducted, with his blanket half on the floor. The scuff marks his feet had made were still on the ground by the bed. Nobody seemed to want to put the blanket back; it seemed strange; that was Dodger's bed. No-one else would sleep in his spot, right next to Fagin's lair, which was adjacent to his bedroom, one of two private rooms in the entire den. The other room was used for bathing and had a large, grimy metal tub in the centre and that was it. Not that it ever got used.

Dodger's battered top hat now never left Fagin's side; he slept with it and always held it in one of his hands. He was holding it now. He didn't want to let it go; it was all he had left of Dodger. That is, until he was found.

"Right, today, forget lookin' in the market," Fagin ordered, as a large pan of sausages was placed on the table and the boys delved in. "Today, I want ya to look farther; go to Bloomsbury, Leicester Square, Covent Garden, Hyde Park, Westminster, 'ell, even go to Buckingham Palace if ya 'ave to. We're gonna cover the 'ole of London if we 'ave to." The boys' could only stare at him in reply, as were Nancy and Bet. Even Bill, who had by now woken up, was gawping at him.

"Uh," began Ace. "'Ow are we gonna get to all these places? Walkin' would take up the better part of the day."

"I'm sure ya can find an 'orse and cart," he answered.

"A cart!" cried Nancy. "Why did we not think of that before?! I know of a place where we can get some!"

"Good, then it's settled; you'll all takes carriages, jus' be back before mornin'," he told them. "I'm going to take one myself and – well, I'm wonderin' if I should search the Thames," he muttered. The room went deadly quiet. "I know there's a good chance 'e's still alive but -" he never finished as his breath caught in his throat.

"At least that way you'll know," Bill finished for him, standing up and donning his hat.

"Yeah," Fagin accepted. "But remember," he turned to the group, who were by now ready to go, "to knock on doors and ask for 'child labourers,' remember that. Go on, get goin'! I don't wanna see ya back 'ere 'til ya can't see yer 'and in front of yer face!" he snapped and the boys' scarpered out. "Bill, I want ya to search today," Fagin ordered, as the younger man headed casually for the door.

"Yeah, yeah, I will," he grumbled. "'Cause, apparently, our lives revolve around the treasured _Dodger_," he snarled, slamming the door behind him.

Fagin was about to leave when Nancy stopped him.

"Fagin, there's summat you should know," she said gesturing to the table. "It's not what ya think," she added hastily, noticing the apprehensive look on his face. "It's just that Bill reckons we should call off the search, 'cause 'e believes Dodge is... dead."

"Well, we can't and we won't. I can see where 'e's comin' from, but we can't stop now. 'E's 'urt and we 'ave to find 'im before 'e gets 'urt any worse. Nance, my greatest fear is that we're gonna find 'im and 'e's gonna be so badly 'urt we won't be able to 'elp 'im."

"I know, Fagin. But like you said, there's every chance that 'e's still alive, we just 'ave to keep lookin' 'til we find 'im. Well, we'll be off. See you tonight," she said, walking out of the door with Bet and Fagin left not long after.

~ X ~

Fagin paused out front of the police station. Never in a million years did he think that he would consider going in there. But it was for Dodger. Fagin still hesitated. He told himself that the police would only help him to search the Thames and that was it. But then they would want to help find Dodger if he wasn't in there. The old Jew determined that any help he could get was worth it and, taking a deep breath, he marched in.

"Yes, may I help you, sir?" asked the officer sat behind the desk as Fagin crossed over to him.

"Yeah. Uh – I'm lookin' for someone that might be... dead," he said. He found it really difficult to say those words.

"Excuse me, sir, but either this person is dead or not. Which is it?"

"Well, ya see, I ain't too sure. Ya see, it's me.. grandson; 'e was kidnapped four days ago," he explained.

"Kidnapped? This is a very serious matter, sir. Why did you not report it to us immediately?" asked the constable, leaning forward.

"To be 'onest, we – me friends and I – thought we'd be able to find 'im ourselves, and I was wonderin' if ya -"

"Well, I suppose that's understandable. Now, what is the child's name?"

"Jack Dawkins. But could ya -?"

"And how old is he?"

"'E's eleven, and I wanna -"

"And where was he kidnapped?"

"Someone came in and took 'im while we slept!" the elderly man snapped. "Now, I just wanna know if ya can 'elp me search the Thames!"

"You have reason to believe that he is in the Thames?" asked the officer.

"Yes! Well, no; we – we've looked everywhere and I... just wanna rule it out, that's all," he looked down at the ground.

"If you'd like to take a seat and I'll talk to my colleagues and they will search the Thames," he replied finally.

Fagin nodded in reply and made his way over to a bench, slumping upon it.

After what seemed an endless wait, a team of at least eight policemen came over to him and announced that they were ready to start the search. Feeling slightly nauseous, Fagin rose and followed them outside.

When they reached the River Thames, the officers started putting on goggles to protect their eyes and peeled off their uniforms, revealing swimsuits underneath.

"There's more of us on the way," one said to Fagin, removing his shoes and socks. "Just as soon as they can get off duty, they'll be here."

"Great," said Fagin, sitting down as they dived in. He felt truly queasy now; imagining what he would do, should they happen to retrieve Dodger's body. He didn't even want to think about it. Just then, one of the policemen surfaced, gasping for breath.

"Nothing yet," he informed Fagin. "If he is in here, he'll only be around these edges – he most likely wouldn't float."

"What if 'e were on a boat?" Fagin asked, but the man shook his head.

"No, we'd know; there haven't been any reports about any boats being out here for at least a week." Fagin just nodded and sat on the floor, staring at the calm river.

~ X ~

Meanwhile, the boys had split into groups of twos and threes, and, rather than paying for carriages, they had merely jumped on the backs, as only they could. These carriages all went into the heart of London; and they decided to search until nightfall and then they would make their way back to the den.

Charley and Ace were joined by Simon; a scrawny, black-haired fourteen-year-old that had only been with them for about a year.

When they arrived in Covent Garden, they were momentarily shocked at how busy it was. Spitalfields seemed like a ghost town compared to this. Charley walked up to a stall selling assorted fruit.

"'Ave ya seen a boy with brown 'air wearin' a blue tailcoat?" he asked, his voice sounding almost monotonous.

"I've seen lots of boys," the stall-owner – a young blonde man said, not even looking up at him.

"Can ya be more specific? It's very important; 'e was kidnapped," the boy almost snapped.

"I don't remember," he said coldly.

"Per'aps _this_ will jog your memory," said Ace, holding up a five-pound note.

"'Aven't seen 'im; 'ope ya find 'im soon," the stall-owner said, uninterestedly, snatching the money and burying his head in the morning's newspaper. The boys glared at him before moving away.

"Could've used that money," Ace muttered, flipping through the wallet he had just picked to see if there was any more money in there. There was, so he pocketed it for safekeeping and the boys continued with what was now their usual routine of searching for Dodger, asking strangers if they had seen their friend, and knocking on strangers' doors.

Whilst Charley and Simon were busy trying to get information out of people at the market, Ace slipped away through an alley to a very middle-class looking street. He mounted the steps and rang the bell and a rather careworn looking maid answered.

"Yes?" she said, barely opening the door wide enough so that he could get a full view of her face.

"Um – 'ave ya taken in any child labourer's lately?" he asked as courteously as he could.

"Who wants to know?" she replied, looking suspicious.

"Me. It's just – me friend 'as gone missin' and we was wonderin' if 'e mighta been, well, ya know, sold."

"Wait here a moment," she told him and then closed the door in his face. Ace tried not to get his hopes up. A moment later, the maid reappeared with her employer, a stout old man with a bushy, handlebar moustache.

"Can you describe your friend?" was all he said.

"'E 'as brown 'air, brown eyes and was wearin' a blue tailcoat," he told him.

"Well, the thing is, we paid for this boy fair and square and he belongs to us now," the man told him.

"Please let 'im go. 'E's our friend," Ace almost pleaded, ignoring his previous thought about not getting his hopes up.

"And now he's our stable boy," he retorted before beginning to close the door.

"No, wait!" Ace cried and the door slid open a tad. "Please – just let me see 'im. So I know 'e's okay," they could break him out later, he thought. The man nodded to the maid who disappeared and reappeared moments later with a boy. Ace's face fell; he had brown hair and eyes, but it wasn't Dodger. He sighed. "That ain't 'im. Sorry," then he turned on his heel and left to repeat the process at the next house.

~ X ~

Meanwhile, Nancy and Bet had gone to Drury Lane. Bill, saying he preferred to work on his own, had gone goodness know where.

"Do ya think 'e's even searchin'?" asked Bet, as they stood at the end of the street.

"'E'd better be," muttered Nancy darkly. "Bet, Dodge, can't be dead; 'e just can't be. I don't understand Bill sometimes!"

"Nor I," she tried to assure her friend. Then she placed a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find 'im. I know we will." Nancy looked at her, nodded, and both women made their way down the street, Nancy down the right hand side and Bet on the left. They had decided that that was the quickest way to search.

~ X ~

It was mid-morning now and "Thomas" had decided to stamp around the kitchen again to wake up Dawkins, who he correctly guessed had eventually gone back to sleep. When the man felt that he had well and truly awoken the boy, he went back and sat in the living-room, burying his head in yesterday's newspapers. Dawkins' picture hadn't appeared in there yet, he noted, chewing on a currant bun. He found it quite unusual; child abduction always made the front page. He wondered why the residents of the home in which Dawkins domiciled had not told the police yet.

Meanwhile, Dodger was still curled up in the same spot he was last night, wide awake but exhausted. He had just realized that it was "Thomas" who was making those thundering sounds. Although he was no longer afraid, the noise still kept him awake. He brought up a hand to his bruised and cut face and rubbed his tired eyes, wincing at the wounds in his cheeks where "Thomas" had nicked him.

The boy thought some more about why the man only nicked his face when he had a perfect opportunity to kill him right then and there, like he had promised. Not that Dodger wasn't glad he didn't go through with it.

_'That time, at least,'_ he thought. Then he remembered how "Thomas" was tormenting him with the knife, going for him with it and then stopping, much like with the punches. That was what had been truly terrifying; waiting to him to strike.

~ X ~

Bill, on the other hand, had gone to Trafalgar Square with Bull's-Eye.

"Bull's-Eye,g o and find Dodger. Go on! Go on, Bull's-Eye!" he ordered, sitting on a bench as the faithful and clever mutt trotted off. The canine knew who Dodger was and Bill was certain that if the pickpocket was here, Bull's-Eye would be able to follow his scent. Not that he cared. If anything, he was glad; the warehouse was a lot quieter now that Dodger was gone., He liked the peace and quiet. Although it meant that he couldn't have conversations with Fagin any more; every word they uttered could be heard.

He had been thinking for a while when he noticed Bull's-Eye returning. He got up and lead the dog down the street. If only Nancy could see him, he thought, he _was_ looking for Dodger. He didn't have to, but he was. Bill just decided to follow Bull's-Eye around this town and see if he could pick up Dodger's scent. Bill suddenly found himself wondering what he would do if Bull's-Eye led him to Dodger. Clearly, he would tell Fagin where the body was; darned if he was going to carry it. But suppose he was alive, but badly injured? Well, depending on the injuries, Bill guessed he would carry the boy. Nothing less severe than a broken leg, though; any injuries less severe and he could walk.

Bill rolled his eyes; they weren't going to find him alive. But, here he was, searching for the boy, being such a good citizen.

~ X ~

Back at the Thames, many hours later, the policemen were still scouring the river. Fagin felt more sick and more worried with each passing moment. A crowd had gathered by now, muttering amongst themselves and Fagin glanced at the now nearly setting sun with shock; had he really been here the entire day?

"Well, he's definitely not in there," the officer assured him, after he'd climbed out.

"That's good," said Fagin, looking over the man's shoulder at the river.

"Well, if you wouldn't mind coming back to the station with us, you can give us a description of the child and we can file a report." Fagin hated Dodger being referred to as a child, though not as much as Dodger himself did. It made him seem so small and vulnerable; whereas he was usually so grownup.

"Oh, no, I'd rather not," blurted out the elderly man, and when the policeman looked at him questioningly, he continued. "You see, I'm.. afraid that me grandson's kidnapper will see the reports and that might put me grandson in danger."

"I see. Well, we've still got to do something. If you'll come back to the station with me, we can work something out." Fagin simply nodded and followed the man. He now had new hope for Dodger, that he was still alive, somewhere.

~ X ~

Finished!


	11. Chapter 11

Well, here's the next instalment. I hope you enjoy it! I've been rather busy performing in pantomime; I don't know if any of you reading this are American, but the pantomime is a yearly Christmas tradition over here in the UK.

Anyway, on with the story!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for the plot and "Thomas". If I owned the others, I sure as heck wouldn't be writing fanfiction, lol!

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 11

It had been yet another day of disappointment as the group of pickpockets', Bill, Nancy and Bet all made their way back to the warehouse. Fagin was back at the police station, in a little room with two officers.

"Child's full name and age, please," said Peter, the more experienced of the two. He was lanky and balding with watery blue eyes. His colleague, Lon, was average height and weight with short black hair and green eyes.

"Jack Dawkins, eleven," said Fagin, who was sat in a chair opposite them, watching as Peter filled in the details on a sheet of paper. He saw no point in giving Dodge a false name; he never used his real name anyway.

"Hair and eye colour?"

"'E 'as brown 'air and brown eyes."

"Right, okay. And where was he last seen?"

"I saw someone draggin' 'im away from where I live, and when I ran after them, they'd disappeared," Fagin chose his words carefully.

"Where do you live?" Fagin barely hesitated before giving an address that was a bit closer to the market than where he lived was.

"Right. What clothing was the child last seen wearing?"

"A blue jacket, and beige trousers," Fagin reasoned that if Dodger was found because of his unusual clothing, it wouldn't matter, because Dodger could always get more clothes and, therefore, avoiding being recognised when he went back out on the job.

"Right, okay, thank you, sir. You've been most helpful," finished Peter, standing. Fagin stood also. "We'll notify the other officers and we'll put out this information around the area."

"Thank you," said Fagin, and thinking quickly, mentioned that he would come back tomorrow and every day until Dodger was found for any information, just in case the police went to the fake address he'd given them. That wouldn't go down well. He left the station, not feeling worse than he did before, but not exactly feeling better, either.

~ X ~

When Fagin arrived at the warehouse, everybody was waiting for him. The old man could only shake his head as he stepped inside.

"Nope, nothin'. Any of you 'ave any luck?" he asked as he trudged over to the table and slumped into a chair.

"No," sighed Nancy. "Nobody's seen 'im; nobody's seen or 'eard anythin' suspicious, nothin'."

"Somebody _musta _seen somethin'!" said Ace.

"'E can't 'ave vanished into thin air!" Charley finished, looking angry, upset and disappointed all at the same time. The other boys were starting to get a bit riled up and Fagin managed to silence them by raising his hand.

"I know yer all gettin' frustrated, but we jus' 'ave to keep workin'," he said. "Now get to bed; ya got lots more ground to cover tomorrow." Again, the boys did not argue and silently walked over to their respective beds. To Fagin, it felt so odd; the boys' not putting up any sort of fight at all and just doing as they were told. He couldn't blame them, though; as each day passed he lost more and more hope of finding Dodger alive, or indeed, even finding him at all. He remembered reading somewhere that most kidnapped children are murdered within the first forty-eight hours. Fagin wondered whether he should start preparing himself for the worst or carry on searching for someone who might never be seen again.

Naturally, Bill was already asleep, but Nancy and Bet were still awake and the three of them sat together at the table.

"Four days," muttered Nancy, staring at the table. "It seems like it's been forever."

"I know," replied Bet. Fagin was glad they were talking because he didn't know how much longer he could stand the silence. Even when the boys' were awake, it was still too quiet. Dodger was one of the loudest, that was for sure, but he wasn't _the _loudest, and now that he was gone, the warehouse was startlingly still.

"This is so 'ard," he mumbled, causing both women to look up at him. "I dunno whether 'e's dead or alive; I want to believe 'e's alive, but after seeing those blood spatters yesterday..." he did not finish his sentence.

"I know this is 'ard, Fagin, but we can't give up 'ope," said Nancy, trying to lift the old man's spirits even though she felt just as miserable. "It's like you said, 'there's every chance 'e's still alive,' and until we find a body, Gawd forbid, there's always 'ope."

"That's true," Bet chipped in. "We all know for a fact that Dodge ain't the kind to let some bloke walk all over 'im."

"'E _is_ dauntless," Fagin had to admit; the boy had a feisty attitude and a very determined mindset. Then again, it was probably these traits which had gotten Dodger his beating. "I went to the police today," he revealed. "To 'elp search the Thames; 'e wasn't in there, thank Gawd, but they filled out a report and they're gonna cover the area."

"But what if -" began Nancy but Fagin cut her off.

"We need all the 'elp we can get, Nance; who knows 'ow dangerous this bloke is?"

The adults carried on discussing, unaware that Charley was still awake and was listening. He felt so guilty for not stopping Dodger's kidnapper; he slept directly at the foot of Dodger's bed, how could he not have woken up when a struggle had clearly taken place? And why didn't he immediately notice Dodger's bed was empty when that desperate scream had awoken them all? But, most importantly, why hadn't he recognised Dodger's voice?

Charley hated the fact that he could have prevented all of his. If only he had looked at Dodger's bed sooner, if only he had realised that it was Dodger screaming. If he had only acted a little sooner, Dodger would be here with them now. It was all his fault.

Fagin had noticed Charley's constant tossing and turning and, upon realising that he was awake, called him over and quietly asked him what the matter was.

"It's all my fault, Fagin," whispered the anguished boy, taking a seat at the table.

"What is, my dear?"

"The fact that Dodge has been kidnapped!" he barely remembered to keep his voice down. Fagin, Nancy and Bet all eyed one another.

"And why would you think that?" asked Bet.

"Because I sleep at the end of 'is bed; I shoulda felt somethin'! I shoulda recognised 'is voice when 'e screamed! If I'd jus' looked at 'is bed when I woke up I woulda seen it was empty and then we coulda saved 'im!"

"..Charley, none of that was your fault," said Fagin eventually.

"But I should've noticed somethin' was wrong! I'm 'is best friend!"

"You couldn't 'ave known this was gonna 'appen," Nancy tried to reassure the boy.

"But I should've at least felt _somethin'_ when that bloody git grabbed 'im!" None of them knew quite what to say to that.

"Well, per'aps if you 'ad, 'e mighta taken you as well," said Bet.

"At least I'd know where Dodger was that way," said the boy miserably.

"Charley," said Fagin sternly, causing the boy to look up at him. "There is nothin' any of us coulda done to prevent this."

"Well, I know, but -" Fagin quickly cut him off.

"Listen, Charley, you can't blame yerself for what's 'appened and you shouldn't. It ain't your fault. The only one in the wrong 'ere is the bloke that took Dodger; 'e's to blame!" Charley found himself unable to speak. It was true what Fagin said; Dodger's kidnapper was the only one in the wrong, but he was still upset.

"I jus' want me friend back," was all he said, before he shuffled back to his bed. Not long after that, Fagin, Nancy and Bet went to bed as well.

Fagin felt quite ashamed as he climbed into his own bed; he'd been so preoccupied with trying to find Dodger that he hadn't even noticed what the boy's absence was doing to his best friend. Charley felt guilty for not realising sooner, but Fagin did as well. It was his job to protect these boys, and he had failed. He knew the only thing that would ease both his and Charley's conscience would be finding Dodger alive, but that was seeming less likely to happen with with each passing day.

Fagin slipped into an eventful sleep and awoke some good few hours later. The very air seemed to stand still. He didn't know what compelled him to sit up and get out of bed; he just had a feeling. The elderly man had no idea why he was randomly walking about the den. He walked slowly out into the main room, towards the door. He reached out and grabbed the doorknob, wondering why he felt obligated to open the door.

After a moment's indecisiveness, he slid the bolt back, turned the knob and threw open the door. And he knew what he then saw would haunt him for the rest of his days.

The still form of Dodger had been unceremoniously dumped right outside the door. His eyes were closed, his arms were raised above his head and he was bleeding excessively. Fagin almost fainted at the sight, but managed to pull himself together enough to check the boy's vital signs, not caring about the blood that smeared over his hands.

"Come on, _come on_!" he whispered as he frantically searched for a pulse. When Fagin grabbed his hand, he almost dropped it immediately; it was colder than ice. However, he ignored it and frenetically felt about for a heartbeat. When he found none, he placed a finger under the boy's nose, hoping to feel his breath. "Come _on_, Dodge. Don't be dead, please don't be dead."

When he didn't feel the breath tickle his finger, he quickly pulled Dodger's eyelid back and gasped at the blank, glassy pupil staring back at him. "_Oh_, _no!"_ Fagin whispered, covering his mouth with his hand and falling back onto his knees. It was then he truly looked at the boy; he was covered in bruises, his face had deep gashes in it and his clothes were drenched in blood, staining them a deep red; Fagin didn't want to see why. "Oh, no, oh, _no,"_ he choked in a voice that was steadily getting louder.

The old man looked behind him, "somebody 'elp me, _please!"_ his anguished cries awoke the household and they all came rushing to the door, where they saw Fagin knelt over the bloodied body of the Artful Dodger. "'Elp 'im, please, 'e can't be dead," cried Fagin, looking from the group to Dodger and back again, his eyes momentarily pausing at the look of pure shock horror on Charley's face.

Nancy dropped down beside him and, just as Fagin had done, checked Dodger's vital signs. Like Fagin, she found none.

"I'm sorry, Fagin," she whispered, tears rolling down her face. "'E's dead."

"No, 'e can't be!" cried Fagin, shaking the Artful one, watching as his limp body rolled, and then became motionless again. Fagin bit back his tears as he scooped up his young protégée and cradled his body close. "Oh, Dodger!" he cried. Nancy guided him back into the warehouse and Fagin placed the boy back on his bed and pulled his blanket up to his chin. Then he knelt down and buried his head in his arms and wept.

Nancy was crying, as were Bet and Charley. The other boys' looked close to tears themselves and even Bill didn't have on his usual 'couldn't-care-less' expression. All eyes were upon the Dodger; aside from the contusions and lesions that covered his face, he looked just like he was sleeping. After what seemed an eternity, Nancy spoke.

"Fagin, you can't leave 'im there; you're gonna 'ave to bury 'im." Fagin looked up at her, his eyes red and swollen.

"I can't put Dodger in the ground!" he cried, horrified at the very thought of it.

"Fagin, 'e's dead," she tried to make him see sense.

"I still can't jus' leave 'im all alone there!" Fagin made to stand up, but his hand slipped off his knee and he fell to the floor with a harsh _thud._

Fagin opened his eyes and got back up. Why, he was back in his room. He quickly exited and made his way over to Dodger's bed. It was empty, untouched. Fagin sighed in relief; it had only been a dream. Or had it? The elderly man ran over to the front door and opened it to check and make sure there was nothing, or rather nobody, out there. The walkway was empty.

Even more relieved, but still not convinced, Fagin crossed over to where Nancy was sleeping and roughly shook her awake.

"Nancy... _Nancy!"_ he whispered urgently.

"What is it, Fagin?" she muttered groggily, opening her eyes.

"Nancy, be 'onest with me, is this the first time you've woken up tonight?" he asked desperately.

"Yes. Why?"

"'Cause if yer tellin' the truth, then it was only a dream."

"'Course I'm tellin' the truth; why would I lie? And what was only a dream?"

"I... just dreamt I found Dodger's dead body lying outside," he whispered, his voice tormented. "It seemed so _real_; I felt 'is body in my arms, I could actually _feel_ 'im lyin' there. And 'e was soaking, covered in blood. It was so scary, Nance. Please tell me it was only a dream, that it didn't 'appen!"

"Of course it didn't 'appen, Fagin," Nancy was now sat up. "I certainly wouldn't be sleepin' if it 'ad, I can tell you that," she told him, but the old man was distraught. She got up and took him back to his room and helped him into bed. Fagin was visibly shaking as Nancy tucked him in. "Listen to me, Fagin," she said firmly. "Dodger's gonna be okay. We'll find 'im, _alive_," she added for emphasis. "That was only a dream. It didn't 'appen and it's not gonna 'appen, okay?" When Fagin nodded, she left and climbed into her bed.

She only wished that she was as sure as she said. She knew, from what Fagin had told her, that Dodger wasn't okay. Not if he had left blood spots where he previously was and he had been heard screaming. But she couldn't further distress Fagin; not after that atrocious nightmare.

Fagin and Nancy both finally drifted off again, and fortunately, Fagin had no more nightmares.

~ X ~

Fagin tried not to let his dream rule his head the next morning, as he instructed the boys' where to search; he had half of the going as far as they could possibly go, and the other half scouring the local area. He had almost forgotten what he had said before about the kidnapper doubling back. Just before the pickpockets' were about to leave, Henry, a sixteen-year-old redhead, voiced a thought that had just popped into his head.

"What if 'e got put into the work'ouse?" The quiet chatter immediately died down, and then, after a while, piped back up again.

"I don't wanna go in there!"

"Could Dodger really be in there?"

"Well, I ain't gonna find out; if one of us walks in there, we'll never come out!"

"_Shut up!"_ snapped Fagin and the boys' instantly quietened. "That is a possibility. 'Owever, I would suggest that you carry on lookin' the same way ya 'ave been. _I'll _go in and ask if 'e's there." The chatter arose again.

"Fagin, you _can't..."_

"They'll make you stay in there! You'll never be able to leave!"

"I will make up a story about me grandson bein' mistaken for an orphan, or somethin', and just find out if 'e's in there, and if 'e is, they'll let 'im leave. They only make you stay there if yer unemployed, or too ill to work, and as I am neither of those, I can assure you that I won't be stayin' there," he tried to calm them. He was telling the truth, after all.

"..Promise you'll be back 'ere tonight?" said Charley at length.

"I promise. Now, go on, get out there! Go and find Dodger!" He herded them out of the door and was about to walk out himself when he was stopped by Nancy.

"Fagin, stay 'ome and rest today," she suggested.

"What? No!" he said, shocked that she would propose such an idea.

"I told Bet about yer dream last night," she revealed. "An' we both agree that ya should stay 'ere, jus' for today."

"But I can't; I 'ave to go out lookin' fer Dodge," he protested, but Nancy stood her ground.

"If ya carry on this way, yer gonna 'ave a breakdown, and that won't do Dodge any good," she said and, after thinking for a while, Fagin gave in and went to his room for some much needed rest.

~ X ~

Nancy and Bet had crossed the Thames and were in Southwark. However, this time, they did not ask anybody they saw for information, instead searching the bushes and the bins, anywhere that Dodger could be hiding.

"If I were a child-snatcher, where would I 'ide?" Bet wondered.

"Somewhere nobody else goes," said Nancy, separating the shrubbery. "Poor Fagin," she said suddenly. "I feel so bad for 'im; 'e was so distraught."

"I don't blame 'im," Bet said. "First Charley, and now Fagin; I 'ope they'll be okay."

"They will. We just need to find Dodge." Nancy stopped abruptly. "I'd give all I 'ave in this world and more jus' to 'ave 'im back," she told her friend sadly. Bet felt the same way. This was now Dodger's fifth day in captivity, and nobody had found so much as one hair on his head. Bet mentally questioned that even if the Queen herself ordered the entirety of London to search, would Dodger then be found?

"'Ave you 'ad any nightmares about... this?" Bet asked hesitantly.

"No, more 'day-mares,' really," the other woman answered. "Whenever I'm walking, I'll randomly see 'im; sometimes 'e's okay, but sometimes 'e's 'urt bad."

"I do, too," said Bet in what she hoped was a comforting voice. "Let's split up and we'll meet back 'ere at sunset, okay?" When Nancy nodded, they went their separate ways.

~ X ~

Meanwhile, Dodger was still locked in the basement, as he had been for the past two days, and he was desperate to get out, lest he go insane.

As the room was windowless, the pitch-black made it extremely difficult for the boy to distinguish between night and day, so he had absolutely no idea how long he'd been locked up.

"Thomas" had continued his cruel regime of stamping around the kitchen in order to deprive Dodger of some much needed sleep; the pickpocket's last full night of sleep was on the night of his abduction. Since then, he hadn't more than four hours' sleep a night, and so, understandably, the boy was exhausted. Also, the fact that he was mildly dehydrated and half-starved caused his fatigue to intensify.

After yet another one of "Thomas'" 'stamping sessions,' as he called it, Dodger had again pulled himself up the basement steps and was once more trying to open the trap door. He couldn't take another moment in the darkness, with only a rat and complete and utter silence for company. He needed to see some light.

In his determination, Dodger had thoroughly forgotten that he was to be severely punished when "Thomas" saw fit to let him out. "Thomas" had told him when he had thrown the boy back down the stairs that his punishment wasn't over – it hadn't even begun.

Unbeknownst to him, "Thomas" was getting ready to have a little sleep; he found stamping and jumping about tired him. He slept whenever the boy did, and he had assumed that he would never be able to open the trapdoor, so he found no harm in taking a micro nap.

Dodger removed his hands from the door, trying to gather up some strength. He didn't know exactly what "Thomas" had placed over the door, but it was certainly doing its job in keeping him down there. Never-the-less, the boy kept trying to shift whatever it was that was weighing the door down. His hands didn't seem to be doing much good, so he turned and placed his back against the door and pushed with all his might. To his delight, he heard a scraping, which told him that the weight was shifting. The boy braced himself and pushed harder, even more delighted to find that the pain in his ribs was finally beginning to subside. Forgetting about his hunger and weariness, he raised his arms and shoved the door as hard as he could, grinning as it at last opened and he was met with sunlight. He wasn't called The Artful Dodger for nothing. The first thing he noticed was what had been weighing the door down; a large, concrete paving slab. The boy turned around and looked up and was met with the displeased face of "Thomas", the local newspaper in his hand. He had obviously heard the paving slab moving.

The grin dropped from Dodger's face and he made to get out of the basement, but the child snatcher kicked him in the stomach, knocking him back down the stairs. As Dodger bumped, tumbled and rolled down the steps and into the wall, he clutched his stomach in agony. Adding to his growing list of injuries was a throbbing back now from where he'd hit it on the stairs. The Artful one let out a whimper, before curling up and trying to lessen the pain.

Only glaring at the boy, "Thomas" slammed the trapdoor shut, pulled the slab back across and sat on it. He was going to have to find something heavier so the boy would not get out again. And if could find nothing, he would simply bind him. Satisfied, he opened his newspaper and began to read

"Well, now, Dawkins," he said loudly. "It's been five days now and your disappearance hasn't made the news. I guess that proves they don't care about you."

"That ain't true!" came a slightly choked voice. "Just 'cause it ain't in the paper, don't mean they ain't lookin' fer me! I know they are!"

"Well, if they are, how come they haven't found you yet?"

"'Cause ya keep movin' around. I dunno where I am; 'ow are they supposed to?"

"Face it, boy, they don't care about you enough to look for you. Not that it matters; you'll be dead soon anyway."

Dodger did not answer that. He really hoped that somebody – anybody – would find him before "Thomas" decided to kill him. "Thomas" smirked to himself and carried on reading his newspaper.

~ X ~

Fagin was still at the hideout, but he was far from resting; his dream made him worry about Dodger, and before the boys' awoke, he had told Nancy and Bet what he had told the police, and as he had to stay home, one of the women promised to check in today.

The elderly man paced the length of the warehouse continuously, desperately wanting the day to end so he could be told what ground had been covered.

He wanted nothing more for this nightmare to be over; for Dodger to come home. As long as he was alive, Fagin didn't care, he just wanted the boy back where he was supposed to be. He stopped pacing by Dodger's bed and stared at it for a while before sitting in his chair by the fireplace.

He still clutched Dodger's top hat in his hand. He vaguely wondered of the boy was missing it, as the only time he took it off his head was when he went to bed, and even then he sometimes left it on. Fagin had to almost constantly remind him about it, "where's ya manners?" and then the boy would comply.

Fagin was actually quite glad he had gone to the police now; they needed help, they weren't getting anywhere. The police knew what they were looking for; they were allowed to search random houses and they had much more experience than they.

He hadn't told the boys' that the law was now involved; he wasn't quite sure how they were going to react to the news. They had always avoided them, for fear of getting caught and now they were actually directly working with them was more than likely not going to go down well.

With every passing day, his life was seeming more and more like a crime novel, one he hoped would have a happy ending. He remembered begging the police to keep the details of the kidnapping out of the newspapers, telling them his fears about the abductor could see it and kill his grandson. They had been surprisingly compliant and sympathetic, he noted; they told him he had nothing to worry about, only the constables would know about it and they would do everything they could to ensure his grandson was safely returned to him.

A knock on the door jerked him out of his thoughts and he rose and made his way to the door.

"Now then," he said.

"Plummy and slam," came Nancy's voice and she and Bet entered when Fagin opened the door. He looked at the sky; the sun was beginning to set. Had he really been here all day? "Still no luck," she sighed unhappily, walking over to the table.

"We went to Southwark, and no-one 'as seen or 'eard anythin'," Bet told him as they all sat down.

"We just 'ave to keep at it," Fagin told her. "I wish I'd gotten a good look at 'is face that night."

"I can't believe tomorrow will be six days," said Nancy, reaching out and gently stroking the battered hat in Fagin's hand.

"Never, in a million years, would I 'ave guessed somethin' like this would 'appen to us," said Bet, her chin in her hand. "It's the type of thing you always 'ear about, but ya don't expect it to 'appen to anyone you know. Poor Dodge."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Bet went to answer it while Fagin and Nancy remained at the table, both thinking about Dodger when they were joined by James, a rather burly sixteen-year-old, and Percy, a gangly fourteen-year-old.

"Did ya find anythin'?" asked Fagin and they both shook their heads. More knocking came and more boys' came flooding in. Soon, everybody was back.

"Asked everybody we saw; looked in old, empty houses; in bushes; in bins; followed suspicious lookin' people and: nothin'," James explained.

"This is gettin' ridiculous," said Percy, exasperated. He was rather opinionated. "'E's just not anywhere! It's been five days; I think we should just quit." Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Percy, don't e_ver _say that again!" growled Charley, infuriated.

"Come off it, Charley, everyone's thinkin' it as well. 'E's dead; there ain't no point lookin' for 'im, so we should jus' -" he was cut off as Charley leapt at him, knocking him to the floor and attacking him with every ounce of strength he had. He pinned him down while he punched and kicked for all he was worth, but Percy, being older, quickly gained the upper hand, and pinned Charley to the ground, blood leaking from his nose where Charley had punched him. Ace stepped in for his friend and tried to pull the bigger boy off, the other boys' helping to drag him away, before a few of them descended on Percy themselves.

"_ENOUGH!" _Fagin looked livid. The group of pickpockets' hurriedly backed away from Percy as Fagin walked towards him, just barely restraining himself. "Percy, if you ever say anythin' like that again, I will whip you until you can't remember 'avin' a back at all and more. Is that clear?" His voice was low, soft and dangerous. Percy knew he meant what he said and he nodded silently. Fagin glared daggers at him before resuming his seat. "As I was gonna say, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted," he shot another scathing look in Percy's direction, "I went to the police yesterday, and they're gonna 'elp find Dodger." The reaction was pretty much what he expected.

"The _police_?!"

"They can 'elp; they know what to do. Don't worry, they don't know know our address, or anythin'. All they know is: my eleven-year-old grandson was kidnapped five days ago and 'e 'as brown 'air, brown eyes and is wearin' a blue jacket and beige trousers. They don't know anythin' else."

"But, when they find 'im, won't they start askin' questions?"

"Probably; but we'll deal with that when the time comes. Now, get to bed!" Grumbling amongst themselves, the boys' went to their respective beds, with Percy getting more than a few intentional shoves along the way. It would indeed be quite a miracle if he woke up the next morning in one piece.

A good few hours later, Bill came strolling in whilst the three adults were talking about Dodger.

"I'll bet 'e's givin' 'is kidnapper 'ell," said Fagin, trying to make himself feel better.

"Well, let's 'ope 'e 'ad the sense to keep 'is mouth shut," said Bill, as he strolled across the room and sat down at the table.

"'Ow do ya mean?" asked Nancy.

"Well, I know Dodger; 'e don't 'ave the common sense to keep quiet, and my guess is that bloke ain't gonna like that."

"... You think that's what's 'appenin', then?" said Fagin after a pause.

"You found blood spatters, Fagin; it's obvious."

"Well, I know, but – ya think that's why; 'cause 'e won't keep quiet?"

"Ya oughta know' the little wretch by now, Fagin," said Bill, sounding quite bored. Fagin didn't really know what to say to that. It was true what Bill said; sometimes Dodger didn't have the sense to just stop talking; he was always one to tango with trouble. And now that Fagin actually thought about it, it made sense that his kidnapper would probably want to silence him.

~ X ~

Another one finished! I hope this was satisfactory. Let me know what you thought in a review!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not anything except for the plot and "Thomas." Everything else belongs to Charles Dickens and Lionel Bart.

Hello, my readers! As promised, here's the next chapter for you wonderfully patient lot!

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 12

The night passed unusually quick for Fagin, who was more than relieved that he had had no more perturbing nightmares. The elderly man had fallen into a dreamless sleep and then had awoken as the sun was just rising. It was now six days since Dodger had been taken and Fagin was losing more and more hope with each passing day, but he couldn't give up searching. How could he? He couldn't simply give up on Dodger, whose life could be hanging in the balance, just because they couldn't find him right away. He wouldn't cease until somebody, _anybody,_ found that boy. Wherever he was, they couldn't just leave him with that man – or men. That thought hadn't occurred to Fagin before; Dodger being kidnapped by more than one person. His heart leapt into his throat as the sickening realisation of what they _could_ want with him shot into his head, but he dismissed those thoughts.

He can't keep imagining these alarming scenarios; they weren't going to do him any good, as Nancy had told him. He had only one thought in his mind: to find Dodger. He would never be able to forgive himself if he called off the search now; Dodger was counting on him.

After he'd roused the boys', he felt no need to tell them what to do; they should know by now, they'd been doing it long enough. The pickpockets' got up without complaint and milled around the table, waiting for breakfast; most of them had been so preoccupied with trying to find Dodger, that they had had forgotten about stealing food, only remembering at the last possible moment.

Nobody was speaking to Percy; the only form of communication the boy received was scathing glares from the boys and brutal shoves whenever they happened to pass near him. They couldn't believe that he had said that they should give up searching for Dodger; every one of the boys' had placed themselves in Dodger's shoes, and while they had no idea of what he was going through, they could imagine how he would feel if everyone had given up trying to find him. If it were them that had been kidnapped, they would want everyone to look for them, naturally.

Nancy and Bet were, quickly whipping up some toast and sausages while, of course, Bill remained asleep.

"Obviously, ya know what to do today," Fagin addressed the boys' from the head of the table and they nodded an affirmative. "Remember; spread the search, but, like I said, the bloke could double back and be closer than you think. And either myself, Nancy or Bet will check with the police today." Once again, they nodded and finished their breakfast as quickly as they could (with the sausages being taken from Percy's hands,) before leaving the warehouse. Nobody had gone to the police station the day before; each assumed that somebody else was going to, so Fagin was going to go.

When the place was empty, Fagin beckoned Nancy and Bet over to him. "I 'ad an 'orrible thought last night," he confessed as the three of them sat at the table together. "What if more than one person's got Dodger?" All sorts of scenarios immediately started racing through _their_ heads as well, but Nancy quickly spoke up.

"Fagin, ya can't keep thinkin' about stuff like this; you'll go mad."

"I know, but, I keep thinkin' of what could be -"

"Fagin, please, just focus on finding Dodger, for not for 'is sake, but for yours, as well. If ya keep lettin' these thoughts get to ya, you'll be so worried, ya won't even be lookin' properly and you'll miss 'im," Nancy tried to make Fagin understand that he couldn't let these troublesome images rule his head. Fagin saw that she was right, but she didn't seem to understand how hard it was for him; he couldn't just switch off his emotions just like that. He cared about Dodger, he cared about all his boys and he didn't want to see any of them get hurt.

When Bill had finally awoken, the adults left to continue the search.

Fagin decided that his first stop would be the police station. He still felt rather awkward going in there, but he told himself that he was doing it for Dodger. He took a deep breath, opened the door and marched to the front desk. Peter and Lon were sitting together at the front desk. They both looked up as Fagin approached them.

"Good morning, sir," said Peter, immediately recognising the elderly man. "I'm sorry to say that, as of yet, there has been no information on the whereabouts of Jack. We do have several officers looking, of course," he said this reassuringly, although Fagin felt less than reassured.

"Okay," he answered quietly. "I just wanted to know if you 'ad found anythin' yet," he said before he left.

~ X ~

Nancy and Bet had travelled to Lambeth and continued what was now their usual routine of knocking on doors and looking in obscure places for Dodger. Nancy hated the fact that this was now a daily routine for them and she said as much to Bet.

"Yes," the young woman agreed. "I only pray that this will all be over soon."

"I can't tell ya 'ow much I wish this 'ad never 'appened."

"I know; well, 'opefully it'll all be over soon," Bet reassured her friend. Nancy nodded distractedly, her eyes wandering rapidly from left to right, searching for a flash of blue, and then a thought struck her; what if Dodger's clothing had been changed and he was now wearing a completely different ensemble? What if all this time they had been looking for a boy in a blue tailcoat and he was in something else? For someone like Dodger, a change of clothing made all the difference, especially in a situation like this.

"Bet," she said suddenly. "'E would still wearin' the same clothes, wouldn't 'e?"

"Oh, don't say that!" cried Bet. "It's already difficult enough!"

"I'm sorry, Bet," she apologised. "I guess if 'e's somewhere in the streets, it won't matter what 'e's wearin'; we'll be able to tell it's 'im!"

"Yes, you're right," Bet agreed, feeling somewhat better. "The Artful Dodger is always recognisable!" Nancy felt slightly more reassured after hearing that; she was certain that Dodger, no matter what he was wearing, would recognise them in a heartbeat.

~ X ~

Bill and Bull's-Eye were in Ludgate; a town only a short carriage ride away. After again commanding his faithful dog to track down the missing pickpocket, Bill flopped down onto a bench and glared at the passersby, bored. If Dodger was here, Bull's-Eye would find him, there was no doubt about that; the dog's sense of smell was so precise that he might as well be a bloodhound.

Bill heaved a great sigh and stared at the sky; it seemed that everyone was missing Dodger except for him; even Bull's-Eye, who, when at Fagin's, kept looking at Dodger's empty bed and whining pitifully. All everyone ever talked about anymore was finding Dodger; it was the only thing on their minds. Bill hadn't had an opportunity to do any break-ins for six days now and he couldn't see why he should have to look for Dodger when everyone else was.

But then he thought back to what he previously had before: the sooner Dodger was found, dead or alive, the sooner everything would go back to normal. That, Bill reminded himself, was the only reason he was even out here.

Heaving another sigh, he folded his arms moodily and waited for Bull's-Eye to return.

~ X ~

The rest of the boys' had split up into groups and had jumped onto the backs of passing carriages, not knowing for certain where they'd end up. As it turned out, Charley, Ace, Simon and Henry, a tall thirteen-year-old with fair hair, ended up in Bloomsbury Square. They would later find out that the other boys' had gone to Charing Cross, Golden Square and Wellington Street, amongst other places. Percy had been left to search on his own; the boys' had made it quite clear what they thought of him. He had only spoken his mind; _he_ knew the unwritten rule that most, if not all, kidnapped children are murdered within the first forty-eight hours; why should Dodger be any different?

_'It's not as if I don't care, or anythin',' _he thought gloomily as he trudged through the busy streets. _'I'm just sayin' the truth; 'e probably is dead. It's sad, but it 'appens.'_

Like Nancy and Bet, the pickpockets' continued their usual routine of going door-to-door, searching in derelict places and stealing food and money along the way. So far, they had been unlucky; nobody had seen or heard of him, and there were no suspicious looking people to trail.

"All we can do is keep tryin'," said Charley, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.

"Yeah," Ace agreed, not looking as though he believed it. "I mean it's been six days now, we're bound to find _somethin'_ soon."

~ X ~

After leaving the police station, Fagin had gone to the one place he dreaded more than prison; the workhouse. Oh, the horror stories he had heard! All the more reason to get Dodger out – if he was even in there, that is.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the iron gates and walked over to the unfriendly-looking building. He took another deep breath before entering.

He had done his best to clean himself up a bit beforehand; he had washed his face, for a start, and had cleaned the stains off of his ratty trench coat. He walked through the main entrance hall and up to the desk.

"Excuse me," he said to the woman who was sat behind the desk, "but has anyone brought a young boy 'ere by the name of Jack Dawkins?"

"Just one second, sir," said the black-haired, green-eyed woman, as she rifled through a stack of papers. "Can you tell me the boys' age, please, and a physical description?"

"'E's eleven, and 'e 'as brown 'air and brown eyes. 'E was wearin' a blue tailcoat," he rattled off, knowing this information off by heart a long time ago. Fagin fought to keep his fingers from drumming on the desk top; it seemed that she was looking through every paper in the entire workshop.

"Sorry, sir, there doesn't seem to be anyone matching his description in here," she said apologetically.

"Could ya just double-check?" he said almost desperately and she stared at him. "I'm sorry; it's me grandson; 'e was kidnapped six days ago, and I was wonderin' if 'e was in 'ere."

"I really am sorry, sir," and she looked it, too, "but no young boys' have come in here for quite a while now. But I'll be sure to keep an eye out for him."

Fagin thanked her quietly and left the building, dejected.

~ X ~

Meanwhile, "Thomas", after one last long 'stamping session' had decided to let Dodger sleep. It was mid-afternoon by this time and the boy, although exhausted, had been unable to sleep straight away, as the notion of it was now almost foreign to him. Usually, every time he even thought about dropping off, "Thomas" would be stamping away above him. This time, however, as Dodger's eyelids drooped, he heard no noise at all. Then, before he knew it, the boy was sound asleep, trying to make up for his six days lack of it.

Once "Thomas" was sure the boy was out for the count, he left the house, needing to get out; he had been inside for nearly three days now and he fancied a bit of fresh air, so he started to walk to nowhere in particular, just breathing in the clean, fresh air, knowing that there was no possible way that Dawkins would get out of the basement now.

Just to be sure, he had found a heavy log from the garden and had placed that, along with the paving-slab over the trap-door. Besides, the boy was sleeping, and he would certainly be asleep for a while. So he made to enjoy his walk, although he made a mental note to return before darkness came.

~ X ~

Fagin had only just remembered what he himself had said; that Dodger's kidnapper could double back, and so he had decided to start searching places nearer to the hideout.

'_There is an old abandoned building directly opposite,'_ he thought. _I'll begin there; I can't begin any closer than there.'_ So he entered the decrepit building and double checked every single crevice, but he found nothing. Every time this happened, it was like his hope deflated a little, like a balloon. He was just waiting for the announcement that Dodger had been found, and that he was okay.

Fagin suddenly felt very crestfallen; he felt like that a lot nowadays, usually whenever he thought about Dodger. He just wished that none of this had happened, and that they were still going about their normal lives. Sighing, he left the building, not really paying attention to where he was going and before he knew it, the sun was setting, so he decided to return to the warehouse and wait for the others to get back,

He didn't have to wait for long; almost as soon as he sat down there was a knock at the door, which was Charley, Ace, Simon and Henry.

"We went to Bloomsbury, Fagin, but we didn't find nothin'," reported Charley as he sat next to his mentor waiting for the others to return. He sincerely hoped that one of them would return with Dodger, and that he was alright.

Throughout the evening the other boys', Nancy, Bet and Bill returned, all empty handed. The quiet chatter died down the moment Percy had came in and then it resumed; they were still ignoring him for the heartless comments he made. Percy only rolled his eyes and sat alone in a corner.

Although the pickpockets' had brought back sausages and bread, nobody really felt like eating, so they just all sat there in silence.

~ X ~

"Thomas" opened the door before carefully picking the deeply asleep boy up. It was very late. He walked out, leaving the front door wide open and started down the street as smoothly as he could, not wanting the child to wake up. When he had reached the main road, he managed to hail a passing carriage.

"Where can I be takin' yer, sir?" asked the carriage drive, who was sat atop the cart.

"Ssshhhh!" "Thomas hissed. "Don't want him to wake up," he gestured to the sleeping boy in his arms and the driver nodded. "Just take us to Cripplegate, please," he requested, climbing in and placing the still-sleeping Dodger on the seat beside him. Once he had closed the door, he pulled his braces from his pocket and quickly tied Dodger's wrists behind his back. In one of his many other pockets, he had a black leather belt, with a large metal buckle and he used that to bind Dodger's ankles together. "Thomas" relaxed for a little bit and rested his head against the back of the seat and settled down for a quick power nap. If the gentle swaying helped him to fall asleep, it helped Dodger to stay dormant; the boy couldn't have woken up even if he wanted to. After days of not sleeping, the boy was truly physically drained.

After a while, the road started getting bumpier and "Thomas" awoke and quickly checked Dodger, who remained sleeping, unaware of what was happening.

Before too long, the jolty road finally awakened the boy, who noticed noticed nothing unusual about his surroundings. It was only when he went to stretch his arms above his head that it clicked. He began to struggle and call for help but "Thomas" was too quick for him; he grabbed the boy and covered his mouth. He used his free hand to pull out the knife and again held it to Dodger's neck.

"I'll slit your throat!" he hissed, but Dodger knew know that they were in a carriage and there was someone sitting right above them. He tried to call for help, his voice muffled by "Thomas'" gloved hand. The child struck out with his tied up feet, kicking the windows."Thomas" pulled him away and sat on his legs, leaning over him, still covering the boy's mouth and pressing the blade against his neck. Dodger, now powerless, gave up his struggle for the time being. He was sure that once the carriage driver saw his predicament, he would give him the assistance he urgently needed.

"Thomas" didn't budge for the rest of the journey, and he only concealed his knife when the coach rolled to a stop and by then Dodger's legs had gone completely numb. Then, still covering the child's mouth, he pulled Dodger out of the cart, holding him the way he had previously; with one arm hooked around his knees, tightly gripped so the boy couldn't wriggle free, and the other arm clamped over his mouth. The kidnapper jumped out of the carriage and made his way up the gravel path to a farmhouse that was shrouded in darkness.

"I'll just put him inside and then I'll pay you," called "Thomas" to the driver, who merely nodded and looked straight ahead. Dodger began to struggle and call out behind "Thomas'" hand; upon hearing him, the driver would have to notice and then he'd save Dodger and take him back to Fagin's! But to his dismay, the man didn't even tilt his head in their direction. The man did think that his customer was acting rather strange, but he did nothing; after all it wasn't his business. He couldn't quite pinpoint what was so strange about a father putting their child indoors, though.

In the meantime, "Thomas" had reached the ajar door of the farmhouse and, mercifully, it was still unlocked, and luckily, he still had a spare key. He pushed open the door with his foot, threw Dodger inside and locked the door. Dodger, weakened from his numb legs and multiple injuries, moved over to the door and commenced calling out, begging for help.

The carriage driver had to raise an eyebrow as cries of "'elp! 'Elp me! 'E kidnapped me! Listen to me! Why won't anyone 'elp me?!"

"Is that kid alright?" he asked "Thomas" as the man in question came up to him.

"Oh, yes; he's just had a bad dream," said "Thomas," nonchalantly, hurriedly tossing a coin at him and running inside the house. The carriage driver merely shrugged his shoulders and went on his way.

Needless to say, "Thomas" was not happy when he turned to face Dodger after locking the door.

~ X ~

"Right, come on, you lot, time for bed," said Fagin tiredly. The boys' again put up no fuss, which was also becoming the norm for them, and shuffled over to their respective beds. Fagin also immediately went to his bed and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Nancy and Bet looked at each other; this was really taking its toll on Fagin. The old man was still clutching Dodger's precious top hat.

The silence was broken by Bull's-Eye's pitiful whining; the dog was sat next to Dodger's empty bed, looking at the spot where the boy would usually be lying. However, as soon as Bill settled down, his faithful canine companion was soon right beside his master.

"We'd better get to bed as well," whispered Bet. "Another busy day tomorrow."

"You're right," Nancy whispered back, walking over to the last two empty beds in the room, aside from Dodger's. Not another word was spoken as they were asleep within minutes as well.

~ X ~

"I suppose you think that was clever?" asked "Thomas," staring at the boy laying on the floor.

"It might've worked," he muttered, not knowing the carriage driver had heard him. Dodger fell harshly onto his back as "Thomas" slapped him across the face.

"Well, it didn't, so you might as well give up trying." Dodger did not answer him and only looked at the floor. After a while he looked up and saw that "Thomas" was still talking, only he couldn't quite work out what he was saying.  
"What?! You're really quiet; I can't 'ear ya." "Thomas" leaned forward and inspected the boy's ears.

"Well, no wonder; your right ear's clogged up with blood."

"Well, I wonder why that is (!) 'Ow could that 'ave 'appened (?)" said Dodger sarcastically, placing his forefinger on his chin mockingly. His cheek earned him another slap to the face.

"I believe you've forgotten the rules; you _will_ learn to follow my rules," said "Thomas. "You _will _answer me when I speak to you, you _will not_ back answer me, and you _will_ do as I say, or else." Dodger only scowled at him, which caused "Thomas" to kick him in the stomach. "You _will not_ pull faces at me," he added to the ever-growing list. "And," he paused, "you will call me 'sir.'"

"I will not," Dodger muttered stubbornly, loud enough for him to receive another kick. Dodger had promised himself that he was going to fight until the very end; it was all he could do.

"And every time you disobey one of these rules, you will get hit," said "Thomas" calmly, as if he was explaining why the sky was blue. And just to aggravate the man, Dodger pulled a face at him, bracing himself for the kick to the back. "Let's see; I think a test is in order," he said, as walked to the far end of the living-room, pulling something out of his pocket and placing it on the floor As he moved, Dodger saw that it was a currant bun and "Thomas" was filling up a small cup with water and he felt rather giddy, having not eaten for three days and having not drunk for even more. As the boy hurriedly crawled forward, "Thomas" kicked him away. "This is a test to see how obedient you are," he declared, and Dodger could not help but glare at him, and "Thomas" thankfully did not notice.

Dodger forced himself to stay back until "Thomas" was seated on the floor, and then he made his move, only for "Thomas" to hit him again. He looked at the floor, not wanting to give "Thomas" the satisfaction of seeing how angry he was. Dodger waited until he thought "Thomas" wasn't looking, and then he reached out his arm... and "Thomas" hit him again.

"Dear me, this simply won't do," "Thomas" seemed to be rather enjoying himself. "I would've thought you would've learnt how to follow rules by now." Dodger bit his lip to keep the insults he longed to hurl at the man down. He did not move a muscle, eyes narrowing at how humiliating this was.

After what seemed a lifetime, "Thomas" broke off a small piece of the bun and threw it at Dodger, who ate it in less than a bite, picked up the cup of water and started to drink it.

"Don't drink all of it, that's mine," croaked Dodger.

"And I'm giving it to you, so if I want to drink it, I will." Dodger crawled over to him and took a gulp from the cup with the intention of spitting it out at "Thomas" but the feel of the cool water over his dry, parched tongue was too good to waste. He swallowed it, took another gulp and spat it in "Thomas'" face.

"Thomas'" face contorted, but he quickly regained control as he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "Dear me," he repeated softly. "It seems you're forgetful, also; you forget that I'm still punishing you." Dodger paled. He put his head down and the room was almost unbearably silent for a long time. He wished he had never done that. There was no point in trying to talk "Thomas" out of it. Now his punishment would probably never end.

Dodger wrinkled his nose suddenly, wondering what that awful stench was. It was so repugnant that he wondered how he hadn't noticed it until then. True, where he lived didn't exactly smell like a bed of roses, but this was something else.

"What is that?" he whispered, thinking afterward that he probably shouldn't have said anything.

"Oh, that smell? I'll show you," "Thomas" suggested, pulling Dodger up and pushing him towards the staircase and up it. The odour was even stronger now and "Thomas" reached up towards a cord that hung from the upstairs hallway ceiling and pulled it, standing back as a ladder swung down. He again started pushing Dodger up into a garret. It was a sizeable, dank, windowless room that had fair amounts of clothes and boxes piled in the corners, worn-out furniture with sheets draped over them and general belongings, such as old vases, books, letters, small paintings, cutlery and rugs and everything was covered with more than a few inches of dust. All the clutter made the room seem much smaller than it really was and Dodger felt slightly claustrophobic.

The gaslight from the hallway was sufficient enough to light the small attic room and Dodger saw what had smelt so foul; a very decomposed skeleton of a young girl, about his age, still with some rotting flesh clinging to the bones. The girl's dull, once-blonde blood-streaked hair lay limply on her stark white skull, her bare arms were neatly laid by her sides, her legs were tidily placed together and her sensible green dress was blood stained. Her face, or what was left of it, was battered worse than anything the boy had ever seen.

Dodger screamed and screamed upon seeing it; he had never seen anything so horrific in his life. He broke down in tears and crumpled to the floor, sobbing, because not only because this was a truly terrifying thing to witness, but because this was going to happen to him as well; he knew it; "Thomas" had told him enough times.

While Dodger was crying on the floor, "Thomas" took the opportunity to sneak downstairs and lock Dodger in the attic with the cadaver. The sudden darkness and sound of the door closing caused Dodger to look up and stop crying. He crawled over to where the door was and tried to open it, but it wouldn't open.

"No, don't leave me up 'ere with that!" he screamed, hysterical, pounding the door. "No, please don't leave me up 'ere! Let me out, please!" He started to retch, but as he had nothing in this stomach, he could only dry-heave.

"Thomas" sat in the living-room, seemingly oblivious to Dodger's screams, calmly reading one of his leftover books by the light of a candle.

~ X ~

Another one finished! I apologise for the choppy scene changes, but I really wanted to get to the end of the chapter. Let me know what you think in a review!


	13. Chapter 13

I hope I haven't kept you waiting for too long! I now have a job, which takes up most of my spare time, and once college ends, I'll probably be working every day, so please bear with me. I will finish this story, no matter what.* Intense, dramatic music plays in background. *

Again, lots of thanks to my lovely reviewers, and to those who don't review, thank you for reading the story!

And, thank you, The Chandelier Fell, for pointing that out. That's one thing I've never been too sure about; whenever I read a name that ends with 's', and it doesn't have an apostrophe, it looks odd, and vice versa. I always thought I was a grammar nut, lol!

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 13

Dodger was now asleep, still locked up in the attic. "Thomas" had by now put down his book and had fallen asleep as well. The boy had cried until he could cry no more and had curled up by the attic door, having given up trying to open it. Understandably, he wasn't sleeping too well and kept waking up.

The sound of something scraping along the floor was enough to pull him out of his light slumber and he sat up, trying to work out what the noise was.

_'Please, let it be rats,'_ he thought, looking around as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. He glanced about the garret when his gaze fell on the corpse. No, her arm wasn't moving, Dodger told himself. No, it was just his eyes playing tricks on him. He continued to stare at the body, trying to prove himself wrong, but her other arm began to move as well, and Dodger shrank back as the little dead girl began to sit up. _ "I'm dreamin', I'm dreamin'," _the boy fearfully whispered to himself as he moved back even further.

The scraping started up again and caught his attention and he saw a white sheet, standing out in stark contrast to the rest of the darkened room and covering an old sofa, twitching as if something was trying to move it. Dodger clamped his hand over his mouth as a person emerged from behind the sheet. It – if it was a human – trudged away from the sofa and Dodger got a better look at him. He could not stop himself from gasping out loud; the person's face was sunken, the discoloured flesh rotting and peeling away, his eyes were wide and glassy and what little hair he had hung in wisps on his head.

The little girl, now upright, turned her skull towards Dodger and he knew they had heard him. She clumsily stood up and faced him; somehow the fact that she didn't have a face made her scarier and a chill ran down Dodger's spine. The both of them started to slowly and menacingly trudge towards him and he backed away further still.

There was a flurry of movement all around him and Dodger saw several more of what he correctly guessed to be corpses appearing from behind furniture and paintings and some lifting up the floorboards and coming up from there. In all, there were about ten of them ranging from six years to mid teens, although as they were all various states of decomposition, it was hard to tell how old they all were . They all had the same rotting flesh and sunken faces. The little girl in the front appeared to be the leader. They all started to advance on him and Dodger started to knock on the attic trapdoor, trying not to panic.

"I'm ready to come out now!" he called, looking up anxiously as they got closer to him. There was no answer from down below; not a sound. He swallowed. "D-do ya know there are people up 'ere? T-Thomas?" he said, his voice getting higher in pitch. "I've learned me lesson! Ya can let me down now!" The group were even closer and the boy started to panic. "Please?!" he cried desperately through the door and when he still got no response from "Thomas" he looked up and found himself face-to-face with one of the cadavers. The decaying tip of his long nose broke right off and fell onto the back of Dodger's hand and the boy sprang away, pushing himself into a corner. The corpses merely followed him and cornered him, leaving no room for escape. Not that he had anywhere to escape to. He screamed as they all reached out in unison, their long, decomposed hands and bloodied fingernails grabbing him tightly, and they started to carry him back into the middle of the room, moaning gutturally. "No, let me go! Let me go!" he begged. "I know you're down there!" he aimed this at "Thomas" downstairs. "'ELP ME!" He didn't care that "Thomas" was the one who had kidnapped and beaten him, he just didn't want be in the clutches of a group of un-dead people. Anything would be better than what was happening to him right now. There was nothing he could do; they had a tight hold on his arms, his legs and his body; he was lifted several feet above the floor and he couldn't fight them off. "Please, 'elp me! Anybody!" Dodger was so utterly terrified he wondered if it was possible to die of fright. If so, he felt rather close to it.

One of the cadavers had let go of him, only to open one of the wide, dusty floorboards, leaving a pitch-black, gaping hole. "No, don't take me down there! Please, don't! Let me go!" His pleas fell on deaf ears as they took him over to the hole and a few of them started to climb down, ready to grab the pickpocket again. With only four of them holding him, holding one of his limbs each, Dodger began to struggle and scream as if his life depended on it. But they didn't let go and they started to lower him down into the opening, the hands of the others reaching up to grab him. Before he knew it, Dodger was in their tight, unyielding grip under the floorboards, and the other four climbed in and pulled the remaining floorboard down, trapping Dodger underneath.

Then, there was silence for a few seconds. Then, the floorboard burst open and Dodger sprung up with a blood-curdling scream that ripped his vocal chords, grabbing onto the ground, trying to heave himself up out of the hole. Three of the bodies rose up on either side of him, seized his arms and shoulders and started to pull him back in. Dodger's screams grew louder and even more desperate and spine-chilling, if that was possible. He held onto the attic floor for dear life, his fingernails leaving scratches along the wood, as he was jerked back under once more and the floorboard closed again with an ominous _thud_, silencing his screams.

Dodger's screams had awakened "Thomas" who had fallen asleep on a little sofa in the living-room. Although he was a little bit annoyed at his sleep being disturbed, he did not go up to investigate, and when he heard silence, he drifted off back into sleep.

~ X ~

Today marked a week since Dodger had first been kidnapped. Seven days; Fagin couldn't believe it. He got up out of bed and began to rouse Nancy, Bill and Bet. The woman began to make breakfast whilst Bill slept on and Fagin started waking the boys.

There was such a sombre atmosphere in the hideout that the silence felt almost overwhelming.

"Right, ya know what to do," said Fagin, needing to break the silence, as the boys' looked at him from the table. They all nodded silently as their breakfast was placed in front of them. Would this still be their routine in another seven days' time? How long was this going to last? As the days passed, the chances of finding Dodger alive grew slimmer and slimmer. "Just find 'im," was all the elderly man said as he sent the boys' out.

~ X ~

The next morning, "Thomas" went up to the attic to find out why Dodger had made such a fuss. He found him curled up not too far from the door, a worried expression on his sleeping face. He rudely wakened the boy by shaking him none-too-kindly.

"Well? What was all that fuss about last night?" Dodger slowly sat up and looked around. He wasn't under the floorboards anymore? Had it only been a dream? It must have been, he reasoned. The dead little girl was lying in the same place she had been when he first saw her. Unless they put him back out here before he woke up. He looked at the floorboard where they had supposedly dragged him under last night. There were no fingernail marks in the wood. It had all been a dream, and Dodger felt like crying with relief.

"Well?! All that screaming?!"

"Oh, that. I -," Dodger hesitated, not really wanting to tell his kidnapper about his nightmare. "Nothin'. Can I come down now?"

"Down? I don't think so," "Thomas" sneered. "Last night, I was so _rudely_ awakened by your screaming." He slapped Dodger around the mouth and Dodger fell back, tasting blood. He wiped his mouth clean of the red sticky liquid and looked up at "Thomas," who kicked him in the stomach, followed by a punch to the same area and Dodger let out a cry. "Thomas" kicked him repeatedly, throwing in a few punches for good measure before grabbing the boy by his hair and lifting his head back so they were facing each other. "I don't like my sleep being disturbed," he whispered sinisterly, "make sure that you _don't_ do it again," he then threw Dodger back onto the floor and left, leaving the boy locked up in the attic once more.

"Please let me come down," pleaded the boy. "I won't do it again." But he got no answer from "Thomas" and he lay back down on the floor, deliberately not looking at the dead child across the room. Once again, he ached all over and he frowned to himself; he couldn't control his dreams, it was unfair that "Thomas" had hit him. _'If 'e didn't want me to 'ave bad dreams, 'e shouldn't lock me up with a dead body!' _he thought, slightly annoyed. "You can't do this!" he screamed suddenly, unable to take it any longer. "It's insane! _You're _insane; you're a madman!" But, he still got no answer from down below and he rested his head back upon the floor, wondering how much longer his ordeal was going to last. He didn't know whether he was going to be found, or indeed, whether anybody was looking for him. Right now, escape seemed impossible; he had no way of getting out of the attic for "Thomas" had removed the inside handle, and out of the house without "Thomas" tracking him down. And even if he were to somehow get out of the house, he had no idea where he was; how would be able to find his way home when, for all he knew, he was in the middle of nowhere, not to mention the injuries he had? The only escape he had seemed to be death.

Dodger didn't even realise he was crying until a tear rolled over the bridge of his nose and fell to the floor. He wiped the tears away and sat up, pulling his knees to chest, resting his arms upon and and burying his head in his arms.

~ X ~

Not long after the boys' had left, Fagin, Nancy, Bill and Bet did as well. Fagin hadn't told anybody else about searching closer to the hideout and then spreading out from there; if he did, they would probably do the same thing, therefore contracting the search instead of expanding it.

Fagin brightened a tad after remembering that the police were now helping them. He had to have faith they would find him. He only hoped that their appearance wouldn't alarm Dodger and cause him to flee. Hopefully, the boy would realise that they were there to help him. If they found him. _'No, stop thinkin' like that,'_ he mentally scolded himself. He had to, had to, remain positive.

~ X ~

Nancy and Bet had gone to Ludgate, not knowing Bill had already done his version of searching there, and had began looking for Dodger.

"Excuse me," said Nancy politely, as she approached a well-dressed couple. "'Ave you seen a boy with brown 'air wearin' a blue tailcoat?"

"No, I don't believe we have," answered the man. "Why?"

"'E was kidnapped a week ago," the young woman explained.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the man apologised and partner nodded in agreement. "Well, we'll keep an eye out for him," he promised her as they went their separate ways. Bet saw a young woman and approached her to ask her the same question.

"I don't think so, but then again, there are lots of boys with brown hair and blue tailcoats," she said apologetically before continuing on her way, leaving them feeling disheartened, but still determined to find the boy.

~ X ~

Charley and Ace had gone to visit Emma, the young woman whom Fagin had told them about; the one who said that if she found Dodger she would look after him until they came for him. Nobody had visited her since Fagin; they'd all been so preoccupied with trying to find Dodger that they had forgotten all about her.

They rapped smartly on the door, trying to not get their hopes up.

"Yes?" said Emma, and then Charley and Ace realised that she had never met them.

"Um, our.. grandfather came 'ere a coupla days ago, about the boy that's been kidnapped?" began Charley, unsure of how to phrase his statement.

"Oh, yes; the eleven-year-old with brown hair and eyes?"

"That's the one," affirmed Ace.

"Yes, have you found him yet?"

"No, we was wonderin' whether you 'ad," said Charley.

"Oh, my, he's still missing? When no-one contacted us, we hoped he had been found. We will continue looking," she assured them.

"Sorry we didn't come to see you," Ace apologised, "it's just – we've been rather busy lookin' fer 'im, you see."

"Oh, not at all, I quite understand," replied Emma amicably. They thanked her and continued their search.

"If only we 'ad a drawin' or a photograph of 'im or somethin'," said Charley thoughtfully as they walked down the street.

"Yeah, that would make this so much easier," Ace agreed. "I mean, Dodger ain't the only boy with brown 'air and eyes."

"Well, when we get back tonight, we'll ask Fagin if 'e could draw a picture of Dodge. Or maybe Nancy; she's good at that kind of stuff. Then when we ask people if they've seen 'im, we can show 'em what 'e looks like." Ace nodded in agreement. They were willing to try anything in the hopes that it may lead them to Dodger.

~ X ~

Dodger himself was still locked up in the attic, still in the same position he was previously by the attic door, staring at the corpse of the child that lay just a few feet away. He kept wondering whether or not the events of the night before really did happen, or if he had just dreamt it. It was far too realistic to be a dream, he thought, but too unrealistic to have really happened. He kept his eyes on the body, for fear it should move again.

He had felt – had actually felt their soft, rotting hands grab him, he remembered the wave of complete and utter helplessness that had swept over him when they had trapped him underneath the floorboards and he was sure that his fingernail scratches had been there; he'd made them himself. Maybe over the course of the night they'd faded? All Dodger knew was that it felt far too real to be a dream; no dream could invoke that amount of terror in a human. He wondered if the cadavers would come out again tonight. If they did, he hoped that he wouldn't be up here; he fervently hoped that "Thomas" would let him out before nightfall.

Now it was daylight and there was somewhat more light in the room gave Dodger a better chance to look around him. He eyed the floorboards carefully, searching for one that looked like it could lift out of the ground. Dodger remembered the bodies coming out from various places in the room, but from what he recalled, they had all stayed under the floor last night. Dodger wished he could remember what had happened; he must have passed out and, frankly, he was surprised he hadn't fainted sooner.

Maybe if he found the floorboard that lifted he could possibly drag something heavy over it, therefore trapping them? Dodger felt relieved before he remembered the little dead girl lying not too far away from him. If she had got out, then it was possible the rest of them had as well, and he didn't really want to physically put them back down under the floorboards himself.

Dodger didn't know what to think; it seemed too unrealistic to be a dream, yet how could it not be? He had felt their hands lifting him up, had heard the _thud _as the floorboard slammed down on top of his head and he had felt, plain as day, the shiver running down his spine at the sound of their cacophonous moans.

Dodger was so deep in thought that he almost didn't hear the footsteps walking about the farmhouse. Because he was so distressed, afraid and less alert from lack of food and water, his blurry mind immediately jumped to the idea of somebody rescuing him and he began to call out for help, pounding on the door blindly.

"I'm up 'ere!" he cried. "Up 'ere! Let me out!" His fuzzy mind could only focus on one thing; that his friends had somehow figured out where he was, had broken in and were now looking for him. He was so intent on calling out that he didn't hear the footsteps come onto the landing, but he stopped as the attic door opened and "Thomas" entered the attic, holding a small cup of water.

"What are you doing?" he asked icily.

"You can't trick me; I know there are people down there," said Dodger, almost delirious, and began calling out again. "I'm up 'ere! In the attic!"

"The house is empty, apart from myself and you," said "Thomas" over the boy's cries.

"No, you must not lie to me," Dodger replied, beginning to come to his senses now that he wasn't alone. "I know I 'eard footsteps."

"That was me," "Thomas" informed him and Dodger stared up at him. "Thomas" only pursed his thin lips, set the cup down on the floor and left, leaving Dodger alone and locked up once again.

The boy felt rather light-headed at the sight of the water and the fact that he could drink as much of it as he liked, even though he didn't know the next time "Thomas" would give him some more. He knew he should save some, but he was far too thirsty to think rationally. He tried to pick up the cup but his hands were weak and shaking, so he left it there on the floor and moved his face down and drank it like that. Soon enough, he couldn't do that anymore, although there was still a fair bit of water left. Dodger turned his head away, before turning his head back and sticking out his tongue, lapping up the water like a dog. His cheeks burned red with humiliation, even though he was alone.

~ X ~

Once again, the efforts to find Dodger had been futile, and Fagin, Bill, Nancy, Bet and the boys' returned to the hideout with heavy hearts.

No sooner had Fagin closed and locked the door than Charley proposed his idea of sketching Dodger so that it would be easier to find him. Fagin looked thoughtful.

"Well, it wouldn't be in the papers," he muttered, rubbing his chin, "but it would be easier for people to recognise him if they knew what 'e looked like. Alright, yes, we'll do that. Very good idea, Charley, very good indeed, my dear. Can't think why nobody thought of it sooner. Nancy, my dear, you're the the best at drawin', will you give it a go?"

"Of course," she agreed, as if she would even consider saying 'no.' She sat down to the table and took up a pencil and a rather grubby sheet of paper and the rest of the household gathered around her, minus Bill. She tried to picture the boy in her head, which was easy enough, but whenever she started to draw, the image seemed to disappear from her mind. And having everyone crowd around her, chiming in with their input didn't help matters.

"'Is eyebrows ain't that thin!" Sighing, she thickened them with a few strokes of the pencil and continued to draw.

"Wait, don't make 'is nose that long!" Ace grabbed her wrist and when she glared at him he continued, "the drawing needs to look like 'im, don't it?" Again, she altered the drawing, careful to use light strokes of the pencil, in case she needed to change anything else.

"'Is 'air don't go like that!" said Charley indignantly. Nancy ground her teeth and again adjusted the sketch.

"There. Is everyone 'appy with that?" she barely refrained from snapping as she pushed the paper away from her.

"Yeah," the boys' chorused.

"Very good, Nancy," said Fagin as he examined the drawing. "Looks just like 'im. D'you think you can make a few more copies, one for you and Bet, one for me, one for Bill and about 'alf a dozen or so more for the rest of me boys. Could you do that, my dear?"

"Oh, of course, Fagin," she said and she got up and hunted around for some more paper.

"If there ain't enough paper, we'll 'ave to look for some more tomorrow," he told her, as she arrived back at the table with a few more sheets and resumed drawing.

A few hours' later, Nancy had finally finished and now had ten drawings of Dodger, all of them more or less identical. The boys' were asleep, as was Bill, and just she, Fagin and Bet remained at the table.

"'Opefully, people might recognise him now," she said, laying down her pencil for the last time. "Do ya think 'e's managed to even get out?"

"I can't say for certain. But we know 'e definitely got out once, so 'e can get out again," answered Fagin. But then his face fell. "But if 'e got out once, that bloke's gonna make sure 'e don't do it again, so 'e's probably locked up..." he trailed off.

"This is gettin' 'arder and 'arder," Bet sighed, resting her head in her hand.

"I know," Nancy agreed. "It seems we're gettin' nowhere, and short of literally breakin' into people's 'omes and searchin' that way, we ain't really gettin' nowhere."

"I wonder if the police can do authorised searches of 'ouses," mused Fagin. "That would certainly 'elp to move things along. I'll ask them tomorrow."

"Tomorrow will be eight days. I can't believe it," muttered Bet.

"Oh, Gawd. Ya know, it's really startin' to take its toll on everyone. Especially Charley," Nancy cast an eye over the sleeping boy. "When was the last time 'e laughed? Or even smiled?" She was right; Charley's raucous laughter hadn't been heard since the day before Dodger was kidnapped. But then again, they were in a serious situation in which laughter was not required. Charley didn't think he'd ever be able to even crack a smile again until Dodger was found.

"Well, 'e and Dodge are best friends, ain't they?" Bet reminded her.

"You know, with every passin' day, I lose a little more 'ope," said Fagin seriously, looking at the two women sat at the table. "I'll never stop lookin' for 'im, but 'e could really die. Or 'e could already be dead."

"Well, no matter what, we won't give up," said Nancy determinedly. Fagin and Bet agreed, and retired to their beds not long after.

~ X ~

Dodger found that even after that small cup of water, he was feeling a lot less disoriented and could now properly focus. He'd had the idea of leaving a note, in case "Thomas" moved him from this place, which he was more than likely to do, in case somebody came upon the farmhouse. Even though he could only write his name, it would be enough.

He hunted around the attic but he found no paper. He did find an envelope which he decided to use, but he could not find a pen at all and he wondered if "Thomas" had one downstairs; if he did, then Dodger would certainly get his hands on it; he wasn't called the Artful Dodger for nothing.

Around mid-morning, "Thomas" had decided to bring Dodger back down out of the attic, and they were both sitting in the rather well-furnished living-room. There were chintz curtains up at the windows, a flowered sofa and an armchair, and several gaslights in wall sconces here and there, but the room looked warm and friendly, in spite of the horror that lay upstairs.

Oddly enough, Dodger didn't feel _that _afraid; maybe it was because he was out of the attic, but also because the living-room was nicely furnished. It didn't feel quite as desolated and it made the farmhouse feel less isolated.

"Thomas" had thrown Dodger onto the floor when he had brought him down, and as soon as the kidnapper had sat onto the sofa, Dodger had made to sit in the chair, only to have "Thomas" slap him around the face so hard he fell back onto the floor.

"What was that for?!" Dodger snapped, although with less anger than he would have used a few days ago.

"I did not give you permission to sit on my chair," he replied calmly.

"It ain't really yours, is it? I bet this 'ouse ain't even yours," Dodger answered back, earning himself another slap on the face. He wiped away the blood that dribbled from his mouth; the sleeves to his tailcoat were crimson now.

"Not that it is any of your business, but this is my childhood home," said "Thomas," drawing himself up.

"I bet your parents are really proud of you, ain't they (?) A kidnapper and a murderer (!)" A punch to the stomach this time and all Dodger could think of was why he kept answering back, when he knew that doing so would get him hit.

"Don't talk about parents', Dawkins; _you_ are in no position to do that."

"Well, _my_ parents couldn't 'ave raised me any worse than yours did; at least _I'll_ never kill an innocent child!" he snapped, looking up at the man with loathing in his eyes.

"You see, that's where you're wrong, Dawkins. You're no good. You're not of any use to the world. You're nothing but a street urchin; a lowly orphan. I'm doing the world a favour by getting rid of you; you're not wanted."

"That's not true," said Dodger weakly. "Fagin wants me; I'm 'is favourite -"

"So you have said," replied "Thomas" coldly. "But if he really wanted you, don't you think he would have found you by now?"

"They're lookin' for me; I know they are!"

"They don't care about you, Dawkins." Dodger did not answer him and just looked at the floor. Of course they were looking for him; they must be. Against his will, his old thoughts of Fagin planning this as a way to get rid him resurfaced and flooded into his head. He tried to push those thoughts away; if he didn't think positive, he might as well just surrender now.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't realise that "Thomas" had moved off of the sofa and sat down next to him until he saw the man watching him out of the corner of his eye. "I wonder," "Thomas" murmured, looking at Dodger, causing the boy to look up. He didn't dare ask what the man was wondering. "I wonder how I shall kill you; there are so many different ways. Hmm, perhaps I could drown you," he said, pushing Dodger down onto the floor and holding him in position as if he were practising. "Or maybe I could just starve you."

"Ya doin' that plenty already," Dodger sniped, still lying on the floor. "Thomas" pulled him up by the front of his jacket and shook him fiercely.

"Don't push your luck, boy," he growled. "What if I just cut you?" he mused, pulling the knife out of his pocket, the other hand still holding Dodger, and placing the blade against his neck. Dodger's heart almost stopped when he felt the icy steel touch his skin. "It would be so quick," whispered "Thomas," gently moving the blade across the boy's neck, not deep enough to draw blood. "But it would be so messy; I'd hate to get all messed up and covered in blood." Dodger gulped.

"S-so would I," he stuttered, trying to make "Thomas" see sense.

"I can't decide whether it should be quick and messy, or drawn-out and clean." Dodger was shaking now; the man was deciding on how to kill him so casually.

"I – I think you shouldn't do it 'ere. Y-you should go somewhere else, like the market, or..." Dodger stopped talking as "Thomas" looked at him.

"Or, maybe," he said quietly, hesitating before standing up, still holding Dodger, and throwing the boy against the wall and started kicking him viciously as he crumpled to the floor. "I... should... just... _beat... the... life... out... of... you!"_ he snarled, kicking the boy in the stomach and abdomen with every word. He suddenly stopped. "Yes; I like that idea best, only I'm not one hundred per cent sure."

"Y – You can't do this, you.. bloody..." Dodger couldn't even get the words out as he tried to pick himself up. He was just so angry; and he had had enough. Eventually, he managed to stand up, his stomach throbbing profusely. He didn't know why he wasn't terrified; "Thomas" was a lot bigger and stronger than he, plus he had weaponry on his side; deep down he was frightened, but his temper kept flaring up and he decided to give "Thomas" a taste of his own medicine.

Standing in front of his kidnapper, he gathered up all of his strength and slapped "Thomas" around the face as hard as he could, the sound snapping harshly around the room. It felt good to take some of the power away from "Thomas," Dodger thought, as a red hand print flared up on "Thomas's" face; his hand was red and stinging.

Before Dodger even had time to think, "Thomas" had him pinned up against the wall by his throat so that his feet were dangling a few inches above the floor.

"If you _ever _do that again," he said calmly, squeezing the boy's neck, watching him trying to remove the older man's hand from his windpipe, "I will personally make sure that your body is _never_ found. I will chop off all of your limbs, including your head, and I will hide them all over the country. What's more, I will make sure that your death is as slow and painful as can possibly be," he finished, letting go of Dodger, who slid to the ground, gasping for breath. "Thomas" meant every word he said and Dodger knew it. He'd better not try that again, he thought, massaging his throat; he didn't want to die. "Thomas" grabbed his arm and started to half pull-half drag him towards the door.

"Wh – what're ya doin'?" Dodger managed to utter.

"Taking you back to the attic." Dodger's eyes widened in absolute dread.

"No, please don't put me back up there!" Dodger choked, trying to wriggle away, but "Thomas" grabbed him around the waist and carried the struggling boy up the stairs. "There are lots of dead bodies up there, and they all come alive at night!" His fear-fuelled mind couldn't fathom how ridiculous that sounded. Dodger had unknowingly revealed his deepest fear to ''Thomas" and the man meant to exploit that in whatever way he could. If Dawkins was afraid of the attic, then of course"Thomas" would leave him up there. He also conveniently forgot to tell Dodger that only one body was up there; if the boy suffered a nervous breakdown, then so be it.

~ X ~

Nancy and Bet had already left the hideout, as had everyone else with a sketch of Dodger tucked carefully into Nancy's purse, and were just deciding where to travel to when a man came running up to them, out of breath.

"There you are!" he gasped, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I've bin lookin' everywhere fer ya fer over a week now!" It was the manager of The Three Cripples, Edward "Ned" Blake. "You two need to work today," he stated. "If ya miss anymore I'm gonna 'ave to fire ya, and I don't wanna do that."

"I'm sorry, we can't," Bet told him. He looked at her, flabbergasted.

"Whaddya mean, ya can't?!" he repeated, feeling a mixture of shock and outrage.

"We can't work!" begged Nancy. "Our friend 'as been kidnapped; 'e's only a kid! 'E's in danger and we 'ave to find 'im!"

"I don't care if 'e's been made the King of England, if you don't get in there and do your jobs, you're gonna get fired! The both of ya!" Ned stormed back into the pub, the door slamming loudly behind him. Nancy and Bet knew how difficult it was to find a job and the two women reluctantly entered the pub.

"Maybe if we work 'ard today and explain to 'im properly, 'e'll let us look fer Dodge," said Bet as they took their places behind the bar.

"Yeah, maybe," replied Nancy half-heartedly, pouring a drink out for one of her customers.

"Why the long face, love?" enquired the woman, sipping her drink.

"It's Dodger," she confessed. "'E was kidnapped eight days ago." The woman's jaw dropped.

"You mean the little one with the 'at and the big coat?" Nancy nodded. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I'd 'ave 'elped look for 'im!" She knew Dodger by sight, he had been in the pub often enough.

"We'd been rather busy tryna find 'im ourselves," she explained. "But Ned said that if we miss anymore work, 'e'll fire us."

"How can 'e say that; 'as 'e no 'eart?" she said, indignant. "I've 'alf a mind to go back there and -"

"Please don't make it worse," appealed Bet. "Just please keep an eye out for 'im, and will ya tell everyone ya know?"

"Of course I will," she promised.

~ X ~

Fagin again paused just outside of the police station out of habit. He'd spent practically his entire life avoiding the police, so he naturally still found it difficult to just walk up to them.

He entered the building and saw Lon and Peter sitting at the front desk again. Fagin frowned; were they even looking for Dodger?

"Good morning, sir," said Lon as he looked up and recognised Fagin.

"I 'ave somethin' 'ere that I think might 'elp," he said rather hoarsely, handing over the drawing of Dodger.

"This is very helpful, indeed, sir," he said, carefully eyeing the drawing. "We'll get some copies made of this, and I assure you, they will be passed out to police officers only." He knew all about the elderly man's fears for his grandson and he truly empathized with him. Fagin just nodded weakly.

"It – It's bin eight days now," he said, and the two officers said not a word. "An' every day I start to worry more. Is it possible – I mean, can ya... Are ya allowed to jus' walk into random 'omes and search em?"

"Not without arresting a member of the household," said Peter.

"Well, then, can't ya just arrest one member of each 'ouse?" He leaned over the desk in desperation and Peter and Lon looked at each other and then at the old man.

"No, I'm sorry, sir. We can't do that. We a_re _looking for him," he assured. Fagin only nodded again and left to resume the search.

~ X ~

Dodger tried with all his might to open the attic door. It was getting late now and soon the annexe would be shrouded in darkness. Trying to calm himself, he drew in a great, shuddering breath and stumbled about the attic, trying to find something that could double as a weapon; he was _not_ going back under the floorboards again!

He took up a white vase, patterned with red roses. It was rather heavy, he thought, weighing it in his hands, and decided that this should be sufficient – for one of them at least. Dodger took the vase back into the little corner by the attic door and set it down, before going to look for more weapons. He found a selection of heavy hardback books and took them back to the corner, one at a time as he was too weak to carry them all at once. He also found a large frame, that could be useful, he reasoned, before lugging that back into his corner. Plates, mugs and bowls? Yes, they would do, he could throw them. Into the corner they went. He spied a broomstick and quickly took that up, and soon had a nice little pile in the corner.

At least he was prepared, Dodger reasoned, setting himself down next to his 'artillery' and draping a rug over his battered body. A few moments later, he shook it off; he couldn't do anything that would help him to fall asleep. If he was awake when they came to life, he might have a better chance of holding them off. He drew his knees up, rested his arms upon them and rested his chin on his arms. He'd been doing that a lot lately, the boy randomly noted as he fixed his eyes upon the body of the little dead girl lying in the centre of the room.

Dodger twiddled his fingers restlessly, needing to do something. He was not going to sleep, no matter how tired he got. Unlacing his fingers, he let one rest on the vase, while the other clenched around the broom handle. This was going to be a long night. To keep himself awake, he started muttering to himself.

"Why am I so scared of 'em anyway? "Thomas" is much scarier; 'e 'as a knife. But these people are dead. But "Thomas" beats me and locks me up. But I dunno what these people want. "Thomas" killed all those people," Dodger had a sudden vision of himself standing with the cadavers, with the same rotting sunken flesh, waiting for the next kidnap/murder victim to be brought up. "Must get outta 'ere before that 'appens," the boy murmured, looking around. "Don't want that to 'appen."

~ X ~

Fagin waited until everybody had returned to the den before asking them if they had found anything, which nobody had, for a frightened and sleep deprived Dodger was locked up in the attic of a farmhouse in Cripplegate. He noticed Nancy and Bet looking rather guilty, but he decided that he would wait until the boys' were asleep before questioning them.

"You're sure none of ya found nothin'?" he asked, just to be sure.

"We're sure, Fagin," the pickpockets' chorused, before heading to their beds.

"'E's gotta be _somewhere," _he muttered. "'E can't just vanish into thin air!" Dodger had appeared to have done just that, though. Fagin took up his usual seat at the table and was soon joined by Nancy and Bet, who kept stealing guilty glances at each other. "Tell me," he said simply. The women looked at one another one final time before looking at Fagin.

"We – didn't look fer Dodge today," said Nancy quietly.

"And why not?" the elderly man glared at them. What were they playing at? Didn't they care about Dodger?

"'Cause Ned came and found us and said that if we missed any more work, 'e was gonna fire us!" said Bet heatedly.

"I see. So your job is more important than findin' a kidnapped child!" Fagin deliberately used the word 'child' to make them feel guilty.

"Fagin, ya know 'ow 'ard it is to find a job nowadays!" snapped Nancy. There was no need for him to make her feel any more guilty than she already did. He knew, but he was still angry.

"Ya should've explained it to yer boss!"

"We did! It's 'im that don't care, not us!" Bet tried to make him see reason. "Besides," she said. "We told everyone there today that Dodger's bin kidnapped, so we got more people lookin' fer 'im!"

"Well, I – ya can't just work when Dodger's missin'! We need to find 'im!"

"I know we do, and we're gonna talk to 'im again tomorrow; see if 'e'll let me work while Bet looks, and then we can swap," Nancy told him. Fagin still felt angry with them, but as long as they were looking, there really wasn't anything he could do.

"Alright," he said rather gruffly. "I'm sorry for snappin' at ya, it's just -"

"We understand, Fagin," said Bet gently. "Now, come on, we'd better get to bed; got another full day tomorrow.

~ X ~

Dodger breathed a sigh of relief. It was daytime now; he could tell because of the light that was shining through the cracks in the attic door. The boy hadn't fallen asleep at all and now he was so tired his eyes were stinging, but he didn't care; he had made it through the night; nothing had happened.

"It was only a dream," he realised. "I can't believe it was only a dream," but he now knew it was, because if it wasn't a dream, the bodies would have risen again. Dodger leaned back against the wall, a hint of a smile on his face, and draped the rug over him once again. His heavy eyelids drooped and he fell asleep.

~ X ~

Yet another one finished! Whoo! So, I've finally finished college now, and it feels so weird, like, what am I going to do with my life? Aside from writing fan fiction, of course, lol.

Anyway, please review! They mean so much to me!


	14. Chapter 14

Here's the next instalment for you! (You all must have the patience of a saint!) I've been getting started on YouTube * cough the link is on my profile page cough *. And I've done things I said I never would – like joined Twitter, lol.

Anyway, on with the story!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the plot and "Thomas"

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 14

"Thomas" made his way up to the attic; wanting to see how terrified the boy was. It was mid-morning and he had had a rather good night's sleep, as there was no screaming from the attic this time. Pulling down the cord that hung from the ceiling, he climbed up the ladder and opened the attic trapdoor. The last time he'd been here with one of his previous victims, he'd had the clever idea to remove the handle from the inside of the attic door, so that whoever was up there couldn't get out.

The boy wasn't in his usual spot, curled up near the door and "Thomas" looked around for him. He was in here somewhere; he couldn't have gotten out. He soon spotted the boy sitting up in a corner surrounded by books, cutlery and various other objects, asleep and covered with a rug. "Thomas" frowned slightly and started to walk towards him.

His footsteps startled Dodger awake, and the first thought that sprang to his mind was that the corpses were coming to get him now that he had fallen asleep. His fingers closed around the broom, the closest thing to him, and he lashed out, feeling it make contact with someone or something.

"Thomas" was reeling from the smart jab he had received to the lower stomach, but was able to step back out of reach from Dodger, who was still waving the broomstick around in a frenzied manner in his half-asleep state. Reaching out and snatching the broom, he hit the boy about the head a couple of times with it and then threw it down, before grabbing Dodger and taking him back downstairs.

Dodger was more or less fully awake now as he was thrown onto the floor of the living room and "Thomas" stood in front of him.

"Don't move," was all he said before he left the room. Dodger was much too tired and weak to care what he was doing and fell back asleep on the floor without his realising and he awakened when "Thomas" re-entered the room, carrying various items in his arms. He dumped them on the floor in front of Dodger and the boy saw that it was all the 'weapons' that he had gathered in the attic. "Get up and stand over against that wall," ordered "Thomas," standing over him. Dodger merely looked up at him. "Are you deaf? I said, get up against that wall." Dodger looked over at the wall he was pointing to, and then back to "Thomas," unable to comprehend what was being asked of him. His mind didn't seem to be working. "Thomas" growled frustratedly and pulled Dodger up by his arm, forcing him to stand and marching him over to the opposite wall. "Stand there with your back to the wall. Think you can do that?" He knew why the boy was acting the way that he was; a mixture of fear, hunger, thirst and sleep deprivation. It caused symptoms such as confusion, light-headedness and disorientation, all of which the boy was definitely showing signs of.

"What – what are ya doin'?" asked Dodger in a low voice.

"I didn't really appreciate being hit with a broomstick," he said quietly.

"Well, 'ow – 'ow do ya think _I _feel?" the boy managed to snap.

"_You _deserve everything you have gotten, and everything you are going to get," said "Thomas" calmly. "You are doing nobody any good by being here on this earth. By getting rid of you, I am making the world a better place." Dodger closed his eyes. Those words stung. To him, they hurt worse than any beating he had received. He wasn't that bad, right? There were plenty more people out there in the world who were far worse than he. "Thomas," for example. Being a pickpocket certainly couldn't possibly be any more repulsive than being a child murderer? He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, "Thomas" cut him off. "Do not move. If you move, I'll kill you." That sentence frightened Dodger, because "Thomas" didn't threaten him; he spoke as if he were stating a fact. He knew "Thomas" was going to kill him, but to him, the worst part was waiting for it to happen. Every time Dodger closed his eyes, he wondered if they were ever going to open again. At the start of every day, he wondered whether he would live to see the next. This was now his ninth day in imprisonment, although because Dodger had been locked up for most of those days, he didn't know how long he'd been missing. He saw "Thomas" handling a china plate and he barely had time to blink before the man raised his arm and threw it at him. Dodger breath hitched in his throat as the plate shattered just inches away from his left temple and he locked his knees together in an effort to stop them from trembling. He didn't have time to catch his breath before another plate was hurled at him. It was all Dodger could do not to cringe; he was afraid of one of those plates hitting him, and he was afraid that if he moved, "Thomas" would kill him.

A big, heavy book hit the wall dangerously close to him and Dodger felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Another china plate shattered just above his head and bits of broken porcelain rained down onto his hair. Another heavy book landed in the same place and fell smartly onto Dodger's head as well, making him groan and use practically all of his strength to keep his head in place. He didn't even dare to close his eyes; the only thing worse than knowing was not knowing. A ceramic bowl landed next to his right shoulder, a large mug by his left ear. If Dodger stayed still, he was more than likely going to be struck with one of these objects, yet if he moved out of their way, "Thomas" was sure to kill him. It wasn't a difficult decision for Dodger to make and he stood there, keeping as still as he could.

After what seemed like a lifetime, "Thomas" appeared to have finally run out of things to throw, but Dodger still didn't let himself relax. Then he saw "Thomas" pick up the vase and he tensed. "Thomas" pulled his arm back and Dodger braced himself, but it never came; "Thomas" placed it back on the floor, but still Dodger did not move a muscle. "Thomas" walked up to Dodger and stood face to face with the boy, although as Dodger was much shorter than him, they were standing face to chest.

"Thomas" suddenly punched the wall, about an inch away from Dodger's face and the boy barely refrained from jumping. "Thomas" repeated the process, continually punching the wall around Dodger's body until he felt he had frightened the boy enough and he stepped away. "Well, it seems you can behave yourself," he observed, and Dodger randomly noted that his voice had changed from being common and Cockney to smooth and well-spoken. The fact that he sounded rather educated made Dodger feel ill-at-ease, for reasons he couldn't quite fathom. "Thomas" chuckled at the sight of the boy standing stock still. "Let's see how obedient you are," he said again. "Stand there and don't move," he ordered and Dodger complied, but anger was bubbling up inside him again. He wanted to scream, shout and fight back, but he didn't dare, for he knew that if he did, he would never see the light of day again. It was best just to go along with what "Thomas" wanted, until (he hoped) that someone would find him and help him. He bit his tongue to keep the insults he longed to hurl at the man silent; instead he screamed them at him from inside his head.

"Thomas" then left the room, but Dodger still didn't move. He longed to sink to the floor, but he imagined that "Thomas" was waiting for such an opportunity and he wasn't going to give him that chance. He fixed his eyes on the opposite wall and remained as still as he could possibly be.

"Thomas" milled about in the kitchen, trying to pass the time. He wasn't worried about the boy escaping because he had locked all of the doors and windows, and also, he knew that the child wasn't going to move a muscle, that was for certain. He was far too afraid.

The kidnapper pulled open a drawer in search for the food he had put away the night before. Locating the brown paper bag, he pulled it out and rifled through it. He pulled out some bread, cheese, meat and a bag of apples and he fixed himself up some lunch. He hadn't been eating properly over the past week, he noted, and he was hungry and sat at the wooden table to eat. He remembered to put aside the crusts, a few scraps of the meat and an apple core aside for boy; provided that he had been obedient, of course. When he had finished, he just sat and looked about the kitchen of his childhood. So many happy memories, of meals that were cooked and eaten, of his parents praising him proudly for his excellent school work, of the many birthday and Christmas parties... Then he remembered himself and one of his victims alone in the house, their terrified screaming ringing throughout the empty rooms. To him, they also fell into the category of 'happy memories.'

"Thomas" stood and stealthily made his way back down the hallway, stopping at the doorway to the living room, listening. When his sharp ears heard no signs of movement, he carefully peered around the doorway, and he smiled when he saw that Dawkins was still in the same place; he could tell he hadn't moved because of the slight tremor in his legs and the strained look in his eyes from the effort of keeping his frame absolutely motionless, and he strode back into the kitchen for the crusts of bread and scraps of meat. Re-entering the room, he carelessly tossed them at Dodger's feet, but still the boy did not move. "As said before, you have finally shown that you can behave; I have always said that children who behave get rewards," but Dodger didn't trust the man enough to move or even speak. "Thomas" laughed out loud and left the room again. Dodger waited until the footsteps died down before lowering his eyes, and then quickly returning them to their previous position.

A few moments later, "Thomas" came back into the room and rolled his eyes when he saw that Dodger had not moved. Sighing frustratedly, he marched over to where the boy was and kicked his legs out from underneath him, making the boy involuntarily sit. "I don't like being disobeyed," he said quietly. "When I tell you to move, you move." Only then did Dodger look up at him falteringly.

"S-sorry," he whispered, not knowing what else to say or do.

"Did I_ ask_ you to speak?" the man glared and Dodger hurriedly shook his head. "There we go. Now, eat." Dodger barely hesitated before consuming the scraps and crusts of meat and bread and crunching up the apple core. Already, he felt just a little bit physically stronger than he had previously. If he could just wait until "Thomas" fell asleep, then he could steal his food and maybe find a way to get out of the house. If he did what "Thomas" said, he might not lock him back up in the attic again.**  
**

~ X ~

Back at the warehouse, Fagin, Bill, Nancy, Bet and the boys' had already left and were searching for Dodger. Fagin had gathered the boys' around the table that morning and had told them to start doubling back and searching where they had previously.

Well, everybody except for Nancy and Bet; they had gone to work and were trying to persuade Ned to let only one of them work while the other looked for Dodger.

"Ya wouldn't be losin' anythin'," said Nancy eagerly. "While Bet's lookin' fer 'im, I'll take over 'er shift, and then we'll swap. We'll still be doin' the same amount of work!" They were both behind the bar at The Three Cripples and Ned was standing in front of them with a bored expression on his face.

"Look, I know your friend went missin' -"

"'E _did not_ go missin', 'e was kidnapped!" said Nancy heatedly.

"Okay, your friend was kidnapped," he corrected. "And I sympathise, I really do, but you girls have been neglecting your jobs!"

"Of course we 'ave!" exclaimed Bet. "'E's just a boy, and 'is life could possibly be in danger right now! 'Ow would you feel if one of your children were kidnapped?!"

"Well, if I 'ad kids, then yes, I would be devastated. But I don't and neither do you! Now, it would be different if it were your own child, but this lad isn't, and 'is family should be lookin' fer 'im."

"We _are _'is family; we're the best that 'e's got, anyway," said Nancy. "And Dodger's like me own son, and we 'ave to find 'im. Please, let me work Bet's shift."

"Oh, all right, fine!" he glared at them. "But I don't want you wasting any time than ya already 'ave, so get movin'!" Nancy quickly hopped over to the counter while Bet dashed out of the pub.

While Nancy slaved away in the pub, Bet decided to search Lambeth again, as she thought it was a good idea to; she remembered Fagin saying that the kidnapper could double back. She still had a drawing of Dodger in her purse, and she showed it to everybody that she approached.

"Excuse me, but 'ave you seen this boy?" she asked a woman about her age, showing her the sketch.

"No, I haven't, sorry," she answered, after studying the drawing. "Why? Is he missing?"

"Yes; 'e was kidnapped nine days ago," she told her.

"Oh, my goodness," she said. "Have you gone to the police?"

"Yes, of course we have. But they 'aven't gotten any information yet."

"Oh, that's just too bad. Well, I shall keep my eye out for him. Good luck."

"Thank you," said Bet as they went their separate ways.

Nobody else was having much luck, either. It was always the same: ''ave ya seen this boy?' 'no, why?' ''e was kidnapped,' 'we'll keep an eye out for him.' That was all everybody who was looking for Dodger

had heard, and there was no way to tell if any of these people were actually looking for him, or if they were just saying they would to be kind. Nonetheless, Dodger was still missing, and they were doing all they could to find him. Now that they had a sketch of him, it was easier to describe Dodger; as Ace had said, Dodger wasn't the only boy with brown hair and brown eyes. Charley and Ace were in Holborn today and wasted no time in looking for their friend.

"Excuse me," said Charley, approaching an older man walking his dog.

"What is it, lad?" he stopped and turned to face them.

"We were wonderin' if you'd seen this boy," Charley pulled out the drawing from his coat pocket and showed it to the man.

"No, can't say that I have, why?"

"'E was kidnapped nine days ago," said Ace, hating how casually the words slipped off his tongue.

"Well, I think the people you ought to be asking are the police, lad," the man said not unkindly.

"We 'ave. We just wanna search as well."

"I see. Well, that's understandable; I shall keep my eye out for the boy."

"Will you?" the words came out before Charley could stop himself.

"Of course I will," the man looked rather perplexed but he didn't question the boys' any further. "Good luck to you both," he said before carrying on with his walk.

Charley sighed and walked away with Ace, both of them stealing scraps of food every now and then.

~ X ~

It was now midday, and Dodger had been quiet, still sitting on the floor where he had previously stood. "Thomas" was rather enjoying the change in the boy; he no longer had to deal with his answering back. He had almost broken him down completely.

Dodger was only obeying "Thomas" because he didn't want to go back into the attic. Plus, he wanted to regain some strength and the only way to do that was to do exactly what "Thomas" said when he said it.

"Thomas" had made himself a very elaborate lunch; sandwiches, currant buns, a small leg of ham and assorted fruit, although any sort of food looked good to Dodger, given the fact that the boy hadn't had a proper meal for almost ten days, and "Thomas" had eaten all of it right in front of the pickpocket. It was all Dodger could do to not reach out and grab everything that "Thomas" had on his lap.

"Well, just look at this," said "Thomas," "Jack Dawkins, the bad little street urchin, is finally showing some obedience and manners." Dodger said nothing and kept staring straight ahead. "Here," he said casually, throwing some bread crusts and meat scraps at Dodger, who didn't even look at them until "Thomas" said, "you may eat," and then the boy hurriedly consumed the scraps. "I certainly hope this good behaviour continues," said "Thomas," looking at the boy, who again did not look at him. "Look at me," he ordered and Dodger obeyed immediately. "Thomas" smiled in satisfaction.

_'Don't say a word, don't move a muscle,'_ Dodge thought to himself. _'It'll be easier that way.'_ So, he stayed put on the floor and wished constantly for night to come.

When the evening did eventually come, Dodger was more or less still in the same position he had been all day. He was feeling a little bit stronger now, even more so that "Thomas" had fed him again; scraps again, but food was food, after all, and Dodger was in no position to turn his nose up at anything.

"Thomas" had been walking about the house, doing his own business, knowing that the boy couldn't escape; firstly, he was too afraid to move and secondly, all of the doors and windows were locked and bolted.

"You know how I have always said that children who are good get rewards," "Thomas" said to Dodger, who stared straight ahead. "Tonight, you are staying down here, so that I can keep an eye on you more than anything else; all that stuff you.. collected last night _didn't_ amuse me." Dodger didn't speak up and say that he was protecting himself from a legion of zombies; he was worried that if he spoke out of turn, "Thomas" would put him back into the attic.

"Thomas" was lying down on the sofa, getting comfortable before he looked over at Dodger and barked, "go to sleep," and then he lay down.

Dodger did not lay down for fear of going to sleep; he planned to stay awake tonight, so he watched "Thomas" slowly fall into a deep slumber. Even when he was certain the man was asleep, he did not move. Dodger instead waited until the room naturally darkened and then he carefully stood up, trying not to make a sound. Still keeping an eye on the sleeping man, Dodger tiptoed across the room and paused at the door, waiting to see if "Thomas" was only pretending to sleep to catch him out. He remained comatose, to Dodger's relief and he stole down the hallway into the kitchen. He looked around the dark room to try and see where "Thomas" had hidden the groceries and he felt about and soon found a drawer, but upon pulling it open he discovered it was empty. He tried the one next to it and that one was empty as well.

Dodger wondered if they were on the other side of the kitchen and started to edge his way forward. He jumped out of his skin when his right hip collided with something and it crashed to the ground. Before he could even guess at what he had walked into, he heard footsteps hurrying into the room and he turned around to find "Thomas" standing in the doorway.

The kidnapper didn't say a word, just charged forward and grabbed Dodger around the waist, ignoring the boy's struggles and shouts as he hauled him up the stairs and threw him back into the attic, slamming the door.

Dodger knew that it was hopeless trying to open the door so he didn't even attempt to. Instead he curled up at the side of it and fixed his eyes upon the little dead girl.

_'Why did I try that?'_ he thought miserably. _'It was never gonna work.'_

The next day, nearing midday, "Thomas" came up and found Dodger curled up asleep by the attic door. Sneering slightly, he grabbed the boy under his arms, jolting him awake and brought him back downstairs. As he threw Dodger onto the floor, he heard the boy mumble something incoherent.

"What's that? Speak up!" he said harshly.

"I can't stay 'ere any more," he repeated, his voice even. "I _can't. _I'm gonna go mad if I stay 'ere."

"Well, that's just too bad, because you are staying here whether you like it or not."

"But I _can't_ stay 'ere," said Dodger again, as if he were explaining to a friend why he couldn't stay out late. "I -" he tried to make "Thomas" understand. "I don't like it 'ere."

"I don't really care whether you like it or not," replied "Thomas" coldly. "It seems your little episode last night has made you forgetful; you are not obeying my rules."

"I don't care," said Dodger stubbornly, some fight coming back to him. He couldn't stay with this man any longer; he needed to get out. "I ain't gonna say or do anything ya tell me to anymore!" For a moment, "Thomas" looked rather taken aback. Then, he bent down and kicked Dodger in the stomach.

"You _will_ do as I say," he ordered.

"I won't! You can't make me!" snapped Dodger, getting to his feet, only to be knocked down by a slap to the face.

"Every time you do not follow my rules, you will get hit," "Thomas" said to Dodger as the boy got to his feet yet again.

"Well, then, you'll 'ave to keep 'ittin' me, won't ya?" Dodger said coolly, wiping away a dribble of blood from his chin. They just stared at each other for a moment. "I ain't stayin' 'ere," he said firmly.

"Yes, you are," stated "Thomas" just as firmly. Dodger shook his head and "Thomas" responded by grabbing the boy by his shoulders and fiercely shaking him. Dodger managed to break free and started to hit at the windows, calling out for help.

"Thomas" sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose exasperatedly as Dodger yelled his head off, not knowing they were in an isolated place; the only neighbouring farmhouse was not only abandoned, but it was a good few miles away.

"God, just _shut up_, will you?!" he snapped, having had quite enough of Dodger, even after the boy's previous frightened state.

"I won't shut up!" Dodger snapped, continuing to hit on the window. The man ran his hands through his hair.

"I've _never_ had to deal with one as bad as you! You're the worst one of the lot!"

"Well, tell you what; I'll make ya a deal: you let me go and I'll shut up," Dodger stopped beating the walls long enough to face his kidnapper; a man he hated with every single fibre of his being.  
"Nice try. No deal."

"Alright. Your loss," Dodger merely shrugged before running to the locked door and banging on it. "'ELP! I've been kidnapped by a crazed lunatic!" The man grabbed the front of his jacket and threw him to the ground and dragged the struggling boy one-handed by his wrists into a spare room at the back of the farmhouse. He had a tight grip on the boy and Dodger was trying to wriggle and kick himself free. "Thomas" pulled a length of rope out of his coat pocket as he walked purposely across the room, ignoring the boy's yells.

"Let me go! Get off of me!" As they reached the corner, "Thomas" quickly and expertly tied Dodger's wrists together and looped the other end of the rope around an exposed beam in the ceiling and knotting it tightly so that Dodger's arms were suspended above him and the child couldn't escape or defend himself.

"There, now," he said calmly. "Perfect."

"Let me go," Dodger repeated; there was a note of pleading in his voice this time.

"No, I don't think so," replied "Thomas" simply. "This is your punishment."

"No. No, don't! Let me go! It ain't fair; I didn't do nothin' to you!" Dodger cried, trying to free his wrists and kicking out. "Thomas," however, merely ignored this and stood out of reach of Dodger's kicking legs. The boy stopped kicking and stared at the man, wondering what he was planning. He tried to sit up, but struggled to do so without the use of his arms and at length gave up.

"Please," he implored, trying to get through to "Thomas." Dodger had to believe that there was a human being under that sadistic mask, if he didn't believe in that, then he might as well give up his fight for life now. "Thomas" had said he was going to kill him seven days ago and he hadn't gone through with it yet; Dodger hoped that he would be able to make him see sense and let him go, or keep the man distracted long enough until somebody found them. Not the best plans, but they were all Dodger had. "Please don't do this. Ya don't 'ave to. I won't try anythin', I promise," his pleas fell on deaf ears as "Thomas" walked slowly towards him. "No, don't!" Dodger cried, just as the man aimed a kick at his stomach. Before the pain could set in, "Thomas" kicked him again and now Dodger could feel his stomach throbbing and tried to curl up protectively, but was unable to move his arms more than a few inches.

"Thomas" began to kick him repeatedly, and punch him too; he stood at the boy's head where he could not be kicked himself and all Dodger could do was close his eyes in preparation for the blows. With his arms tied above his head, the boy could do nothing to defend himself. It was a barbaric thing to do.

"Thomas" appeared to have lost all mercy; the kicks and punches came quicker and stronger all over his entire body, so much so that already Dodger could feel his strength ebbing away. "Thomas" was like a man possessed; he brought up his foot, clad in black leather boot and brought it down viciously on Dodger's stomach and the the boy howled in pain, bringing his knees to his chest. He managed to roll onto his side, with some difficulty, so that he could at least try and shield himself from the blows he was receiving. A agonizing kick to the small of the back forced Dodger to open his eyes and there was a brief, blissful pain-free moment as "Thomas" walked around to face Dodger and the last thing the boy saw before he lost consciousness was a foot heading for his face.

~ X ~

"Right, listen up, everyone!" Fagin gestured for the boys to gather around the table. It was time to tell them. "It's been ten days now," he began, looking at their faces, not wanting to tell them what he was going to tell them. "And I don't want yer 'opes getting' dashed."

"Yer not tellin' us to stop lookin' fer 'im, are ya?" asked Charley immediately.

"No! No, I'm just sayin' to – to start preparin' yerself for the worst." The boys' stopped shuffling about and just stared at him.

"Yer sayin' that -" began Ace, but Fagin cut him off.

"I'm just sayin' that – 'e's been kidnapped, and this bloke didn't do this fer a laugh. 'Ave ya forgotten the blood stains? And the screamin'?" Fagin felt horrible for saying that, but he had to make sure they were prepared, and he had to make sure he was prepared as well. It was hard for him to say these words out loud; it made them ring too true for his liking, but he had to be realistic if they were going to ever find the boy. "There's every chance you'll find 'im, it's just... what yer gonna find," he mumbled that last part, and the pickpockets' just nodded silently. "Good. Now get goin'," he said quietly and they shuffled out of the door. Fagin then looked up to see Nancy and Bet staring at him; he didn't say anything and walked out of the warehouse himself.

Charley and Ace were walking down the streets with identical glum expressions.

"So, Fagin reckons Dodge could be really 'urt, or..." Charley didn't finish the sentence. It wasn't a pleasant topic, but they had to talk about it; Charley couldn't imagine his best friend being physically injured, it wasn't a scenario he liked to think about.

"Well," Ace was unsure of what to say. "'E _'as_ been gone fer ten days, and I don't really think that bloke is a friendly bloke in the first place; 'e was probably even less friendly after Dodge escaped."

"Yeah," Charley tried not to let himself think about it. "Well, we'd better get lookin' then, ain't we?" Ace only nodded and as they reached the market, they began to search extensively.

Bet was working at the pub today, so Nancy was looking desperately in every nook and cranny for Dodger.

"Excuse me, please," she stopped a passing couple. "'Ave ya seen this boy? 'E was kidnapped ten days ago."

"No, I'm afraid we haven't," they said apologetically, promising to keep an eye out, before continuing on their way.

Feeling disheartened, Nancy made her way to Emma's house, having been given the address by Fagin, and Emma herself answered to her knock.

"Hello. Are you one of those looking for the missing boy?" she asked politely.

"Yes. 'Ave ya found anythin'?" Emma shook her head sadly.

"I'm afraid we haven't; my mother, father and sister have just gone out looking for him," she informed the woman. "I stayed here in case anybody called. Would you like to come in for some tea? You look exhausted," she said kindly.

"No, thank you; I would rather continue looking for him."

"I understand. Good luck and do let me know when you find him." Nancy replied that she would and carried on down the street until she came to a bench and she collapsed on to it and buried her head into her hands, fighting back tears. She didn't know how much longer she could do this; she was so afraid for Dodger. As the days went on, she only grew more and more terrified for him. For the past ten days, she had trying to think positively, that Dodger would be found alive and well, maybe a little shaken and frightened, but okay. But after Fagin's little speech this morning, the fact that this was most likely not the case really hit home.

She finally allowed the dam to break, and the tears ran freely.

~ X ~

Dodger awoke many hours later, still tied to the beam. His eyes remained closed and the only way he could describe how he was feeling was as if he had a very bad cold; his head ached and throbbed; actually so did his entire body; his nose was blocked and he felt groggy. Dodger carefully turned his head so that he was facing the ceiling, scrunching up his face with the pain. He opened his eyes a crack and waited for his vision to sharpen. When it finally did, he saw "Thomas" standing in front of him.

Small, panicky whining sounds emitted from Dodger's sore throat; the boy was in too much pain and too frightened to form proper words. "Thomas" walked towards him and Dodger's whimpering increased.

"I – I – " Dodger struggled to get the words out, his voice hoarse from a mixture of dehydration and fear. "I – I'll... be... g-good," he managed to utter as "Thomas" stopped walking and looked down at him.

"We shall see," was all "Thomas" said before he exited the room, leaving Dodger alone.

The boy was a mess. Dodger tried to see what damage had been done to him, but every movement he made, made him want to scream out in pain. Dodger's other eye had been blackened, his nose was broken and his philtrum and upper lip was encrusted with dried blood, his mouth tasted coppery, his face was badly cut and bruised and some of his hair had even been torn out. His shoulders were stiffer than tree trunks from being suspended above him for so long.

He now had a large, boot-shaped bruise on his stomach, more contusions decorating his stomach, abdomen, chest, arms and legs. "Thomas" had even cut his stomach with the knife; several two-inch long incisions, thankfully none of them deep enough to damage anything vital. To say he looked a mess would be an understatement; the boy had been mercilessly beaten into unconsciousness, and Dodger truly wondered if he would live to see the end of the day.

~ X ~

It's finished! Not the story, the chapter, I mean; I couldn't end it here. I don't know how much closer I am to finishing the entire thing; I have the next couple of chapters planned out and I plan to get started on them as soon as possible.

Anyway, what did you think? Please review!


	15. Chapter 15

Hello, all! Again, I'm sorry for the long wait; I've been going back and forth to the recording studio since mid-September. Writing and singing are my main passions in life, and I would love to make a career out of both of these.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and "Thomas."

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 15

Fagin awoke early, as was now customary for him. Not wanting to dwell on the fact that today was Dodger's eleventh day in captivity, he started to rouse the boys' and when he'd woken them and they had gathered around the table, he told them to start doubling back and searching places closer to the warehouse.

"But only 'alf of ya; we don't need all of ya lookin' in the same place," he said. As he had done previously, he held out his arm, "you lot search around 'ere," he said to the boys' on his left, "and you lot, cover new ground," he said to the boys' on his right. Charley and Ace were in the group which were to re-search the places they had already looked. "You lot that are lookin' round 'ere, come back 'ere around midday, I'll be 'ere, and tell me where you've searched."

"Are ya not goin' out today, then?" asked Charley, ignoring the pan of sausages that was placed on the table.

"Yes, I am, but I'll be back 'ere at midday. I'm goin' to the station, see if they've found anythin'," he explained.

The boys' hurriedly ate and left the warehouse. Nancy and Bet left shortly after, and Fagin woke Bill and waited for the thief to exit before leaving himself.

It was now Nancy's turn to work at the pub, and she made sure to tell everyone that she served that Dodger had been abducted, and Bet was also re-searching Spitalfields and the surrounding areas. Bill was just ambling around where ever he felt, letting Bull's-Eye do all the work.

Fagin had gone to the police station again, and only Lon was there this time. He explained that Peter and a few other members of the force were out searching even as he spoke, and a sketch artist had made some copies of the drawing of Dodger, which were then distributed to other police officers.

"They've gone all over," he informed the elderly man, "and they're going to give the sketches to other police stations in different towns. They're looking in abandoned buildings, in workhouses, hospitals, everywhere."

"That makes me feel a bit better," Fagin mumbled, relieved that the police were taking this so seriously. Not that they any reason not to; a child in peril was a child in peril after all. "Thank you," he said, before exiting the station. He wondered what he would do if any of the officers found Dodger. He had given them a false address; suppose they went to it? Well, he had given them the address of an abandoned house; he could always say that he was so distraught he actually forgot his own address.

Meanwhile, Charley and Ace were at Bishopsgate. Neither of them said a word. They continued to search high and low for their friend, their hopes becoming more and more dashed with every empty alleyway, empty house and every person who told them that they hadn't seen Dodger. Nonetheless, they tried to remain positive; Charley had said that it was they could do. Dodger was counting on them.

Every so often they would pass a police officer, and they soon realised, by the sheets in their hands, that they were also searching for Dodger.

"I 'ate to admit it," said Charley. "But I'm glad the police are lookin' fer Dodge; we ain't gettin' nowhere."

"Yeah, they'll probably do a better job than us," Ace agreed. "I 'ope they _do _find 'im; I 'ope any of us does soon."

"..Well, we'd best get lookin', then," said Charley softly. Ace nodded and they set about their now usual routine, which consisted of showing strangers the drawing of Dodger, and knocking on doors; today they went inside the shops, wondering why they had never done that before.

"Excuse me, 'ave ya seen this boy?" asked Ace, showing the man behind the counter the sketch.

"Afraid not, boys'," he said, after looking at the picture.

"Well, then, 'ave ya seen a man actin' suspiciously?" asked Charley.

"'Ow do ya mean, 'suspiciously'?"

"Well, ya know, maybe bein' secretive, or in an 'urry. Our friend 'as been kidnapped, and we don't know what the kidnapper looks like, so we're tryna find suspicious lookin' people," Charley explained.

"I ain't noticed anyone actin' strangely as of late, but I'll keep me eye out." The boys' both thanked him and exited the shop, entering the one next door to repeat the process.

~ X ~

It was now after noon, and Dodger was still bound to the beam, "Thomas" didn't seem to have any plans to remove him soon. The man wasn't even in the room. When he did enter, he completely ignored Dodger, acting as though the boy wasn't even in the room.

There was still a little bit of fight left in Dodger, and he was determined to make the most of it; he had remembered that he was going to fight until the very end; unfortunately for him, the end didn't seem very far off.

Before he could do anything, "Thomas" came up towards him and started untying the knots on the rope, but instead of freeing the boy, "Thomas" pulled on the end of the rope, forcibly pulling Dodger up onto his knees, causing the boy to groan in pain. Then, "Thomas" retied the knots, leaving Dodger almost hanging by his wrists. He didn't try to stand on his feet; he didn't think his legs would hold out. Dodger looked up and realised that "Thomas" had left the room.

~ X ~

Charley, Ace, Bet and a few of the other boys' had gathered back at the warehouse to report back to Fagin.

"Where did ya all go today?" he asked.

"Me and Charley went to Bishopsgate, and we went into to every shop and showed 'em the picture, and asked 'em about suspicious lookin' people," rattled off Ace. Fagin nodded approvingly.

"And what about you three?" he directed this at Henry, Simon and James.

"We went to Billingsgate," Simon told him, "and we knocked on every single door we saw, looked in empty 'ouses, and in bins, and showed everyone we saw Dodger's picture."

"I looked all around Spitalfields; Whitechapel, Brick Lane and Leadenhall," said Bet. Fagin nodded again.

"I went back to the police station today," he revealed, looking at Dodger's top hat in his hand, "and they told me that they'd made copies of Dodger's picture and they'd given them to the policemen at the other stations around London, a-and they're lookin' in all work'ouses and 'ospitals. So, 'opefully 'e'll be found soon." Bet and the boys' nodded. "Charley and Ace," the elderly man said. "I want you two to search Cannon Street and Thames Street," he told them and the boys' nodded. "''Enry, James, Simon, you three look around Cheapside and Cornhill. And George, Sam and Robert," he directed his gaze onto the last three boys' in the warehouse. "You lot look around Holborn and Snow Hill. And, Bet, you look around Guildhall."

"Alright Fagin," came the mixture of different voices.

"Anyway, let's get back out there and continue lookin'," said Fagin, rising from his chair, the others following suite.

~ X ~

It was now late afternoon and Dodger was still tied to the beam, and even though all of his weight was resting on his knees, his arms ached; the pain was at its worst in his shoulder joints. "Thomas" hadn't come back into the room ever since he had forced Dodger into his current position, and the sound of footsteps caused Dodger to look up again as "Thomas" entered the room.

"Are you thirsty?" was all he said, standing in the doorway.

"... N-no," Dodger hesitated before answering, his voice a dry, cracked whisper.

"No, _what?_" "Thomas" glared at him. Dodger looked momentarily confused before remembering.

"No, sir."

"Good boy," the man said patronisingly, causing Dodger to frown slightly. "But I think you are."

"You think I'm what... sir?"

"Thirsty."

"But I'm not," the boy lied.

"Oh, I think you are," answered "Thomas" his green eyes darkening. "You know you are. Now tell me you're thirsty. Tell me," he repeated, an edge to his voice after Dodger didn't reply.

"I – I'm thirsty, sir," he whispered, looking at the floor.

"I think we can do better than that. I want you to beg for a drink. Well, go on then! Beg!" he ordered, after the boy, again, didn't answer him.

"... Please, please, _please,_ can I 'ave somethin' to drink, sir?" Dodger closed his eyes in humiliation as he said this. "Please, sir, just a little sip of water?" "Thomas" just stared at him.

"No, you cannot," was all he said, before leaving the room. Dodger barely had time to get angry before "Thomas" strode back in, drinking water from a cup in his hand. When he had finished, he set the cup down on the floor and walked towards Dodger. As "Thomas" neared Dodger, the boy struck out with his foot, and delivered a kick to the man's shin. "Thomas" stared at him, a hardened look on his face. He then calmly bent down so that he was face to face with Dodger, and backhanded the boy, and Dodger closed his eyes, wondering how much more he could take. As if the physical pain wasn't bad enough, every time "Thomas" spoke to him, or even looked at him, Dodger was made to feel worthless. And now, Dodger was starting to believe it; what else could cause the disgusted look in "Thomas's" eyes?

"Thomas" settled himself on the floor opposite Dodger in the empty room, and he pulled the little black notebook out of his pocket. "Jack Dawkins," he muttered, eyeing the name he had written down eight days ago. "Now, just _how _am I going to kill you?" Dodger looked up at him. "I believe I will first slice your skin all over – really deep, long cuts that always hurt, even if you're not moving – and then I will cut your fingers off one by one. Then I'll cut your forehead, along the hairline, and peel your skin off. And then I will cut off all your limbs, and I will send them one by one to your family – saving your head for last." Dodger's face had completely drained of all colour and he was trembling. "I don't know just when though – I need to think about it more." And with that, "Thomas" stood and exited the room.

"Oh, someone please 'elp me," Dodger whispered fearfully to himself.

"Thomas" came back in carrying a newspaper and Dodger blinked in confusion; he hadn't heard "Thomas leave the house. "Thomas" sat back down, opened the paper and started to read it.

"Oh, look," the man said in mild surprise, after he had turned a few pages. "Your picture's in the paper," he lied as Dodger stared at the paper, as though hoping he could see through it. "It seems that.. Fagin, is it? Your father, or grandfather, or whoever he is, has told the papers about your disappearance." He'd remembered the boy muttering to himself in the basement, and had heard the name 'Fagin.' Dodger glared at him; it was no disappearance, he had been kidnapped! "And it says here that they now believe you to be dead and they're holding a memorial service for you today; it seems they would hold a funeral, but they can't, as they haven't found your body," "Thomas" finished, folding up the paper and setting it down.

And that was it; Dodger broke. Hearing that made him lose all hope. He felt the little bit of fight that was left within him drain away from his body. No matter what, there had always been a little part of Dodger that had kept coming back for more. No matter what "Thomas" threw at him, that little piece inside of the boy had kept on picking himself up, dusting himself off and leaping back into the fray. But not any more. He gave up. Tears streaked down his face as he accepted his fate. They had given up. It was too late. Nothing mattered any more.

"'Ow – 'ow long 'ave I bin missin'?" he asked quietly, but he got no response, so he repeated his question, louder this time. "I said, 'ow long 'ave I bin missin'?" The boy truthfully had no idea how long he'd been in captivity for. But still "Thomas" ignored him. "'Ow long?! Tell me!" he cried desperately; he had to know how long they had been looking for him, until they gave up.

"What does it matter?" said "Thomas" cruelly. "They aren't looking for you anymore; they think you're dead."

"But I'm not!" cried Dodger. "Th-they can't stop now, they just can't!"

"Too bad, Dawkins" replied "Thomas" as he rose, "now _nobody's_ looking for you," and he exited, leaving Dodger alone again.

Dodger didn't want to believe it, but there was no other evidence to the contrary. For all he knew, they had been looking, and they had probably given up, if he had been missing for a lengthy period of time. But how long was too long? A week? Two? Three? The days in isolation had altered Dodger's sense of time, and he lost count of how many days he had been gone a while ago.

Dodger closed his eyes as the pain crept over him; not any kind of physical pain, which seemed to be growing more and more agonising every second, but a new mental kind. He felt broken, as if his soul had shattered. He felt as if his mind was crying; his limbs seemed to grow heavier as he grew more depressed. He was going to die here, and nobody would ever know, because they had stopped looking. He was to become just another statistic, another missing/dead child. Nobody would remember him for being the greatest pickpocket of all time; he would be another nameless face, a number, placed alongside all of the other murdered children in a book somewhere and would be forgotten about. He was destined to become another corpse in the attic, lying in wait for "Thomas's" next victim, and nobody would ever stop him because he was too crafty and clever.

After leaving Dodger to absorb his lie, "Thomas" re-entered the room, a little over an hour later. Dodger looked up as he heard footsteps coming towards him, and he saw "Thomas" pulling a knife out of his pocket. Dodger closed his eyes tightly and waited for death, but he felt nothing, so he opened his eyes a little bit and saw that "Thomas" was cutting through the rope above his wrists. "Thomas" severed the rope one last time and Dodger crumpled to the floor, his shoulders screaming in protest. So intense was the pain, and the fact that everyone who he thought cared about him believed he was dead, that Dodger began to cry. He was in so much pain, that he kept wondering how he was still alive.

"Please," he begged. "I don't wanna suffer no more!" He couldn't take it any more; he had no more strength.

~ X ~

It was now evening, and Bill, Bet and the boys' were all back at the hideout. They had searched the areas where they had been told to, but none of them had had any luck.

"Someone did tell me 'e saw a brown 'aired, brown eyed, boy, but 'e wasn't wearin' a blue coat," Bet told him. "I asked 'im where 'e saw the boy, and 'e wasn't too sure, so I looked everywhere."

"Did the man see whether 'e was with anyone?" asked Fagin, not wanting to get his hopes up.

"'E said 'e was alone." Fagin only nodded.

"Tomorrow, the two groups will swap over," the old man said. "And, again, the ones that are lookin' around 'ere, come back at midday, and I'll tell ya where to look next." The boys' nodded in reply. "Right. Now, get to bed," he said, and the pickpockets' hurried off to their respective beds.

The next morning, when the boys' had gone off to search in their designated areas, Fagin was in the warehouse with Nancy, Bill and Bet.

"Do ya realise that in two days, Dodge will 'ave been gone for two weeks?" It wasn't a question, but a statement. "Are we ever gonna find 'im?" he asked quietly.

"Fagin, we must remain positive," said Nancy.

"I'm tryin', Nance, I really am, but... it's 'ard," he admitted.

"We know, Fagin, but we just 'ave to keep tryin'," she said. Fagin nodded and the two women left the den; Fagin would have rouse Bill and make sure he got out as well before leaving himself.

~ X ~

Charley and Ace had travelled to Lambeth and were looking around there. Each day they grew more and more subdued. Neither of them said a word, they just searched everywhere they could; Charley even started peering closely into the faces of every boy that passed them, causing him to get more than a few odd looks.

Bet was working at the pub, but was still doing her bit, by telling every customer she served that Dodger had been gone for twelve days. If work prevented her from going out and searching for the boy herself, the least she felt she could do was to let others know.

Bill was ambling around Cannon Street, letting his faithful dog do all the work as usual. After he'd instructed his dog to sniff out the pickpocket, he relaxed on a bench until Bull's-Eye returned to him, and then they headed back to Fagin's as it was after midday.

As usual, Fagin had asked the boys' where they had searched and then had told them where to look next and had sent them on their way.

~ X ~

It was now evening, and all of the boys', including Bill, Bet and Nancy, and they were getting ready to go to bed. Of course, none of them had found Dodger, as he was in an isolated farmhouse in Cripplegate, nor had they found any clues as to where he was.

"I'll tell ya where to look tomorrow," said Fagin, before ushering them off to their respective beds. He didn't know how much longer he could keep doing this. Tomorrow would be thirteen days since Dodger had been abducted and the hope of finding him alive diminished with each passing day. He said as much to Nancy, who immediately set him straight.

"Ya can't afford to think like that, Fagin," she told him. "We all need to think positive, and just focus on findin' Dodge; one of us is bound to, sooner or later." Fagin only nodded. He knew she was right; thinking the worst wouldn't do him or Dodger any good.

The old man sighed and settled himself down into his bed, Dodger's hat firmly gripped in his fingers.

~ X ~

The next morning, Fagin stood at the head of the table while the boys' quietly ate breakfast. Food was becoming rather scarce as everybody had been so preoccupied with looking for Dodger.

"Right, I want the ones lookin' round 'ere to look round Moorgate, Smithfield and Snow 'Ill," said Fagin and the boys' nodded at him. Charley assumed he was to look around the local areas as he had covered the more widespread towns yesterday, but to his surprise, Fagin told him, Ace and a few other to again travel as far as they could. Charley supposed it didn't really matter whether or not they followed a pattern. He finished his breakfast and headed out with Ace.

Fagin said nothing to the other three adults in the room as he left the warehouse.

~ X ~

Dodger had remained where he fell after "Thomas" had cut him down; he had lowered lowered his arms inch by inch, his shoulders screaming in protest and then he had fallen into a fitful sleep.

"Thomas" awoke him early the next morning. Dodger found that as soon as he was awake it was impossible for him to go back to sleep, because of the amount of pain he was in. He wondered how he even managed to fall asleep previously.

Once he had awakened the boy, "Thomas" again left him on his own, coming back into the room every so often to jibe at him.

"The world will be a much better place without you in it," said "Thomas," standing over Dodger's crumpled form.

"And it will be a much better place without _you_ in it," Dodger managed to retort. "Thomas" didn't reply, instead he kicked the boy in the ankle, using the heel of his foot, causing Dodger to groan in pain.

~ X ~

Nancy was at The Three Cripples, much to her annoyance; it frustrated her that she had to work when everybody else was out looking for Dodger. She decided that as soon as she had a free moment, she would slip away and continue searching.

Charley and Ace were in Clerkenwell. As was quickly becoming their normal routine, they hardly spoke to each other unless they had to. Charley had the drawing of Dodger in his pocket; he showed it to everybody who passed them, they asked shop owners whether or not they had seen anything, they searched alleyways, empty houses, bins and everywhere they could think of.

"I dunno what to do," muttered Charley. "Day after day, we're doin' the same thing, and no-one's found even one 'air on 'is 'ead. Everyone's lookin'; why can't we find 'im?"

"..Maybe – maybe that bloke doesn't want 'im to be found," said Ace. Charley only sighed and looked at the ground.

~ X ~

Dodger, who had crawled into a corner and curled up in it, had now accepted his fate. He saw no point in fighting back, nor did he have the strength for it. "Thomas" was sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

"Wh - when ya kill me, will ya let 'em where my body is?" he managed to ask, his voice a monotone whisper and his eyes dull. He felt that the least he could do would be to give Fagin closure.

"No, I don't think I will," said "Thomas" coldly.

"Wh – why?" he whispered.

"Why should I? You are no different to the other scum I have gotten rid of; do you think I told those families' where the bodies of their children were?" Dodger didn't answer him, just looked down at his now swollen left ankle, which was throbbing painfully. He had become what he said he never would; completely broken down and cowering in the corner.

Every time "Thomas" so much as moved, Dodger flinched, curling up as small as he could.

"Thomas" arose and started walking towards the boy, who pressed into the corner even more.

"Wh – what are ya doin'?" the boy whimpered, peering up at him through his locks of hair.

"You asked to be put out of your misery, did you not?" Dodger then started to cry. He never cried if he could help it, and if he had to, he always made sure he was alone. But he'd been rather preoccupied over the past thirteen days that crying in front of people was the least of his worries. This was it; the moment he died. Huge, gut-wrenching sobs burst forth from his lips as tears streamed down his face. Anybody else would have been moved by the sight of the crying, bruised child huddled in the corner. Except for "Thomas," who stood there stony faced.

"I – I didn't mean it!" Dodger managed to heave between sobs. "I don't really wanna die!"

"I'm doing the world a favour by killing you. You're not wanted." He walked up to Dodger, reaching into his pocket. Dodger pressed further into the wall when he spotted the glint of "Thomas's" knife. "Thomas" pushed the right sleeve of the boy's jacket up and also the sleeve of his shirt, and he cut the top of the boy's arm, from elbow to wrist in one quick motion. Dodger didn't even feel it.

~ X ~

Nancy was using her lunch break to search for Dodger, and she didn't plan on going back to the pub; she didn't care if Ned berated her again, all she cared about was finding Dodger. She figured he wouldn't mind as much as it was a particularly slow day and the pub was practically empty. As it was midday she went to Fagin's.

The elderly man was rather surprised when she turned up.

"I thought you were workin' today," he said, a little bit confused, as she walked in. A small group of boys were there, awaiting directions.

"Yeah, but lookin' for Dodge is more important. So, where do ya want me to look?"

"Fenchurch and Billingsgate." The woman nodded in reply and left the warehouse immediately.

~ X ~

"Thomas" had left Dodger alone after he'd said he was going to kill him, just to torment the boy. He had taken him almost two weeks ago, so he would have to do it soon; he didn't want to take any risks. He decided to leave the boy alone for the rest of the day.

When evening approached "Thomas" lay down on the sofa in the living room, and fell asleep, making a mental note to wake early the next morning. He awoke not long after the sun had risen and went into the back room where Dodger was. The boy was still curled up in the corner and still asleep, and "Thomas" placed his coat over the boy, covering his face, picked him up and walked out the front door. He walked down the street for a little while before hailing a passing carriage. The driver noticed the boy's covered face and commented as such to "Thomas."

"Yes, I'm afraid we have somewhere important to be, but I don't want him to wake up," explained "Thomas." Can you take us to Moorgate?" he asked and the driver nodded. Climbing into the carriage, "Thomas" spent the journey thinking. Dodger had unknowingly given him something to think about, and he decided that letting the boy's family find his body would be torturous for them. On the other hand, them never knowing where the boy was sounded rather good to him as well. "Thomas" eventually decided to never let them find the body; after all, Dodger was no different than his other victims.

By the time they had arrived at their destination, Dodger had started to wake up, but "Thomas" didn't worry; the boy was too weak to make a scene, and as it was still very early, there was practically nobody in sight.

After walking a while, he came upon a wooded area and stopped for a moment, seemingly catching his breath and stood Dodger on his feet and the boy swayed slightly, only vaguely aware of where he was. Dodger looked up at "Thomas" hesitantly and the man looked back at him.

"Well, Dawkins, take a good, long look at the world; it'll be the last time you'll ever see it."

~ X ~

Finished! Boy, I'm mean to you guys, aren't I? I'm sorry this chapter took so long; I've had other ideas for other stories in and I just had to write them down before I forgot them, and I got a little bit sidetracked.

Anyway, I have about ¾ of the next chapter written, so you hopefully won't have to wait so long for an update.

So, review, please? I do so love getting them!


	16. Chapter 16

Well, I had hoped to have this uploaded in time for Christmas, as a treat for you, but fate had other plans. Also, real life got in the way, as it does. Still, better late than never, eh?  
Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and "Thomas."

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 16

Fagin awoke early, as per usual, and began to wake the boys'. Dodger had been taken two weeks ago today, and Fagin could barely believe it.

Nancy and Bet were awake and dressed as well, and the two women were making some breakfast out of what was left of the food, which was not a lot.

"I know you're a bit preoccupied with findin' Dodge at the moment," began Fagin. "But remember to get some food; we all need to keep our strength up. When ya come 'ere at midday, make sure you've brought some food back." The boys' murmured their replies and set about eating the last of the sausages and toast. "You all know what to today," he said when they'd finished and they only nodded in reply. "You lot on me left, you look around 'ere, and the rest of ya, travel as far as ya can. Get goin'," he said simply and the pickpockets' scattered out of the door, although with much less enthusiasm than they used to have.

When they had gone, Fagin turned to Nancy and Bet, "kids don't go missin' for this amount of time. The odds don't look good."

"Ya must stop thinkin' like that. We've got to believe that we can find Dodger and bring 'im 'ome. We can't give up on 'im; 'e needs us," said Nancy, feeling exactly the same as he did, but she was trying not to worry and trying to focus on finding Dodger.

"Yeah, yer right, but I'm just so worried."

"We all are, Fagin," Bet assured him. "And we _will _find 'im." Even though she believed her own words, she couldn't bring herself to promise the old man.

"And we won't stop lookin' 'til we do," nodded Nancy. "Well, we best be off. See ya, later, Fagin," she called over her shoulder as she and Bet left the warehouse.

"See ya," he mumbled in reply and he took a seat at the table, waiting for Bill to awaken and buried his head into his hands. When the thief awoke some time later, Fagin immediately left.

"Bet, look fer Dodger when ya 'ave a break today," Nancy told her as they exited the warehouse together. "That's what I did yesterday."

"Alright, I will," she agreed. "And if Ned fires me, so be it!" She headed off to the pub, while Nancy headed to the market and planned to work her way out from there.

~ X ~

Charley and Ace were in Aldgate, which was not too far from Spitalfields.

"Maybe," began Charley thoughtfully, "maybe we'll get more done if we split up as well." Ace stared at him.

"But what if one of us finds Dodger, and we can't fight off that bloke alone?" Charley didn't have an answer for that.

"Okay, fair enough, but I just think we could get so much ground covered, ya know?"

"Yeah, I know what ya mean," replied Ace. "But if ya wanna split up, we will; and if one of us finds Dodger, well then, we'll sprint back to Fagin's, or tell the first trap that we see, all right?"

"All right," Charley agreed. "See ya, and good luck."

"Good luck," answered Ace as they both headed off in different directions.

Charley at first continued looking around Aldgate, but he figured that Ace was most likely doing the same, so he headed to Leadenhall. He walked down the street, when he passed a young couple and overheard a snippet of their conversation.

"...because of the treatment of that boy, I..."

"What boy... Ma'am?" cried Charley, almost forgetting his manners in his eagerness to know. The woman looked down her nose at him disgustedly.

"I beg your pardon?" she said stiffly.

"I'm sorry; please excuse me. It's just, me friend 'as been kidnapped, and when you said 'that boy,' I thought..." Charley trailed off.

"I don't know anything about your friend; we happened to be discussing a boy who had ran away from the workhouse."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologised.

"Your friend was kidnapped, you say? How awful! What does he look like?"

"Well, 'ere's a picture of 'im." Charley pulled said picture from his pocket and handed it to the woman, who examined it.

"I can't say I've seen him, but we'll be sure to keep an eye out for him," she said and Charley only nodded, having heard it countless times before. "When was he taken?"

"Two weeks ago," he told her, and she handed the drawing back to him and he pocketed it. "Well, thanks fer offerin' to look," he said before walking away and continuing his search.

~ X ~

Fagin entered the police station, randomly noting how normal it felt to walk inside without any fear at all – well, except for the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach; the feeling that the officers were going to tell him that Dodger had been found seriously injured – or worse. Trying to ignore it, he walked up to the desk. Neither Lon or Peter were there, instead there was a rather stern looking middle aged man, with dark brown hair and blue eyes.

"Can I help you, sir?" he inquired, his kind voice contrasting with his formidable looking appearance.

"Yes. Me grandson was kidnapped two weeks ago, and I was wonderin' if ya 'ad any information about 'im yet."

"Are you referring to Jack Dawkins?" The officer, whose name was Fred, asked and Fagin nodded. "I'm sure you know that we have officers out looking even as we speak, but, as of yet, we still haven't found him."

"Okay," answered Fagin quietly. "It's just... today's been two weeks since 'e was taken." Fred looked at him sympathetically.

"Don't worry, sir; we have our best officers on the case. We'll find him," he smiled reassuringly and Fagin tried to smile back, but couldn't.

"Thanks," he mumbled before turning to leave. He halted just outside, wondering where to go next, and he decided to go to Emma's.

When he knocked on the girl's door, a different young woman answered; it was Grace, Emma's sister, but Fagin had never seen her before and was momentarily confused.

"Are you one of the ones looking for the missing boy?" she asked and he nodded. "My sister and parents are out looking for him right now," she told him and Fagin smiled wanly, unable to say anything.

"Thanks fer lookin'," he muttered, needing to say something; he needed to keep his mind busy, otherwise it would drift off to Dodger – with thoughts he didn't particularly want to think about.

"Not at all; we're just doing what anyone would do," she smiled. "Would you like to come in for a while? You look exhausted." _''Ow does she expect me to look?'_ Fagin thought, annoyed. _'No, it ain't 'er fault; she's just tryna 'elp,'_ he mentally scolded himself.

"No, thanks; I'd rather continue lookin'," he said courteously. "But thanks anyway."

"You're welcome. I hope you find 'im soon," she said sincerely as Fagin turned to leave.

"So do I," was all he said in reply.

At the end of the street, he stopped, unsure of what to do next. Fagin frowned, annoyed with himself; how was he going to find Dodger if he didn't even know what he was doing? Wracking his brains, he eventually remembered that he had told his boys' to knock on doors and enquire about child labourers, so he decided to do that.

He walked up to the first door he saw, and rapped upon it. A young woman with red curls answered.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Um, I was wonderin' if you'd taken on any child labourer's lately."

"No, we haven't."

"Okay. It's just... me grandson was kidnapped two weeks ago, and we thought he might 'ave been taken to be a labourer."

"Oh, I see. What does your grandson look like?" Fagin responded by pulling out the drawing and showing it to her.

"I can't say that I've seen him about," she said after studying it. "But I'll keep my eye out."

"Thanks," said Fagin, having heard it all before. He placed the drawing back in his pocket and left to repeat the process at the next house.

~ X ~

Nancy was in Ludgate, scouring every inch. She had her sketch of Dodger tightly in her hand and she was showing it to everybody within walking distance of her.

"Excuse me, 'ave ya seen this boy?" she approached a young couple, who were walking their dog, and showed them the drawing.

"I'm afraid we haven't, Miss," said the man apologetically. "Is he missing?"

"Yes; 'e was kidnapped two weeks ago."

"Well, I really think you ought to be talking to the police," he told her.

"We _'ave._ They ain't gettin' nowhere; that's why we're lookin' fer 'im as well."

"We'll be on the lookout. Sorry we can't be of more help."

"That's okay, and thanks. E's wearin' a blue tailcoat," she told them just as they turned to leave and the man nodded his head in acknowledgement. Nancy continued walking down the street until she saw another couple and approached them.

~ X ~

A young woman casually doing a bit of shopping in the Leadenhall market, came out of the shop and noticed a young boy walking around. She immediately noticed the bags under his eyes and the way his face was creased with worry and she felt concerned for him and approached him.

"Are you alright, lad?" she asked, walking up to him. The boy looked at her.

"_I'm_ fine," he said pointedly. "But me friend ain't; 'e's been kidnapped."

"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry to hear that," she said genuinely.

"Yeah, so we're lookin' fer 'im."

"What does he look like?" The boy pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. "I haven't seen him anywhere, but I will definitely keep my eye out for him."

"Thanks," muttered the boy, before walking away. Every person he met gave him the same response, and Charley was getting rather annoyed; somebody somewhere had to have seen Dodger. Right? Charley supposed that Dodger was locked up, and if he was, then of course nobody would have seen him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a crowd in the middle of the street and he stopped. Through the midst of people, he saw a flash of blue. His heart pounding, he ran towards the crowd, and pushed his way in front. It was a boy wearing a blue coat, but it wasn't Dodger. That moment of happiness and excitement was quickly dashed as he properly observed the boy lying on the ground; it definitely wasn't Dodger, for one thing, this boy was blonde. From what he could tell, the boy had been kicked by a horse, which explained the crowd.

Downhearted, Charley shuffled away, walking to next street and looking at the neat rows of houses. Stepping up to the first, he rang the doorbell, and a rather stout woman answered.

"Yes, can I help you?" she asked.

"Yeah, 'ave ya taken on any child labourer's lately?" he asked.

"No, we don't have any child labourer's at all. Why?" Maybe it was just Charley, but he thought she sounded rather suspicious.

"Me friend 'as been kidnapped, and we thought 'e might 'ave been sold as a child labourer," he explained.

"Oh. Well, sorry, I can't be of more help," she said apologetically. Charley only nodded and walked away, and when he heard the door shut behind him, he turned back around. Walking back up to the house, he peeked inside one of the windows. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary and he didn't know why he thought the woman was acting suspiciously, but he had to be sure.

When he had looked inside for a fair few minutes and he saw no children – well, he did see _children_, but he didn't see Dodger. He heaved a great sigh, and went to the house next door to repeat the process.

Out of all the houses, Charley had had no luck at all; hardly any of the residents' had taken on any labourers', and the ones had, had begrudgingly let Charley see them, but none of the children were Dodger, to his dismay. As he walked back up the street the way he came, he heard the town clock strike ten, and he couldn't believe it; was it that early? It seemed as if he had been searching for the better part of the day.

When Charley arrived back at Leadenhall market, he wondered where to search next. He still had enough time to look somewhere reasonably near before he had to report back to Fagin's at midday. He decided to head to Moorgate, which was moderately close to Spitalfields, and search there.

~ X ~

Bet, much to her chagrin, was still working at the Three Cripples. She had contrived to sneak out on her lunch break, but she hadn't had it yet.

Ned was already angry at Nancy for not returning from her break yesterday, and she could only imagine how much angrier he was going to be today. Ned seemed to be reading her thoughts, as he came over to her.

"Don't even think about sneaking out today like your friend did yesterday," he warned.

"Well, if you'd 'ave just a shred of compassion, and let us look fer Dodger, we wouldn't 'ave to sneak out!" cried Bet indignantly.

"I 'ave already given you several days off for that; I need ya 'ere, we're short-staffed as it is."

"I know. But we really need to find Dodger. You know me and Nancy will work more shifts to make up for missin' so much work."

"I know ya will. But I am still your boss, and I decide when you get to leave, not you!"

"But this is serious! 'E could be in great danger, 'e could be badly 'urt! Can't ya see that?!" Bet was starting to get annoyed now.

"Yes, I can see that, but the fact is that this boy 'as several other people lookin' fer 'im. Ya really should let the police deal with this matter; 'ave ya even told them?"

"Yes, of course we 'ave, and they're lookin' as well, but they're gettin' nowhere, that's why we need to look fer Dodger as well; the more people that are lookin' the quicker 'e'll be found."

"Listen, let the police deal with this; it's their job, not yours."

"But it _is_ my job; 'e's me friend."

"Look, Bet," he tried a different angle. "You've already contacted the police, that's a start. Let them do their job; they know what they're doin'."

"I know, but, I still need to do what I can." Ned was starting to lose his temper.

"Enough, Bet, I'm your boss, and I say you're not leaving today."

"But -"

"I said no, and if I catch you tryna sneak out, I'll fire ya quicker than ya can blink. Not only that, I'll fire Nancy as well."

"We don't care if ya fire us," said Bet stubbornly. "There's plenty of jobs out there." Ned was rather stumped at this.

"Well, regardless... at least stay here until your lunch break," he said and Bet begrudgingly agreed, scowling and slamming a glass down on the table as Ned walked off.

~ X ~

A wealthy-looking gentleman and his wife, both finely dressed, strolled down the footpath. They were chatting happily and the woman turned her head to the left to gaze at her husband. He said something to her, most likely paying the lovely young woman a compliment, and she giggled, looking down. Something caught her eye, so she peered over her husband's shoulder - and screamed in pure terror, burying her head in the man's shoulder. He turned to see what had made her scream - and recoiled in shock.

A young child was lying motionless on the grass to their left. His arms were flung out to the sides and his legs were tucked clumsily underneath him, indicating he had been thrown there, rather than fallen asleep from hunger and/or exhaustion. His eyes were closed and his face was covered with dried blood and bruises, and both of his eyes were blackened. His head was turned to the left, his lacerated cheek resting on his shoulder.

The boy looked no older than nine or ten, with a gaunt, pinched, yet youthful-looking face and a mop of untidy hair on his head.

Because of the injuries on his face, and the fact that it was swollen slightly, it was hard to distinguish who the boy was. Most likely a beggar child.

The boy was dressed very poorly; every item of clothing he had on was either ragged or ill-fitting.

The couple were still standing there, looking at the boy. A small crowd came rushing over, having heard her screams, concerned for the young woman. The couple were surrounded, and they explained everything to the anxious crowd.

"No, no, we're fine; thank you for enquiring. It's... someone has murdered that child," the woman whispered the rest, pointing to the spot where the child lay. The crowd swarmed over to the boy in question like flies, took one look at the bruised, bloodied and battered boy and, decided he was dead. How could anyone, especially a young boy, survive a beating that severe? The fact that they couldn't see him breathing also accounted to the fact that he must be dead.

"Who is he?"

"I've never seen him before."

"What a peculiar-looking child!"

"Poor dear; imagine what he must have gone through before he died."

"I hope whoever killed him gets sent to the gallows!"

"Maybe we should ask around, and see if anyone knows him, or if he has any relations."

"Do you think we should give him a burial?"

"Why should we? We don't know him."

"I quite agree. It's none of our business what happens to the boy."

"Yes, it's not our concern."

After that comment, the crowd started to disperse. They felt deeply sorry for the child, and sympathised with his family; if he had one, that is. However, most of them felt that a favour had been done. The boy was most likely a street urchin or a pickpocket; they were no good here. Homeless orphans were not of any use if they weren't in the workhouses and were begging on the streets. Although it was saddening to see a child got rid of in that way, some thought it best as it was one less street-child to worry about.

Most, if not all, of the woman were moved to tears at the shocking sight of actually seeing a child in that condition. Many members of the crowd had never seen _anybody_, let alone a child, found in the state the boy was in.

"I wonder who would do that to a child?" mused one woman, before she was led away, her fiancé not wanting her to be subjected to such a gruesome sight.

Charley was wandering the streets, looking for Dodger. Where he was looking now was a good forty-five minute walk from the warehouse. Spotting a crowd out of the corner of his eye, he briskly walked towards it, trying not to get his hopes up, and also a little bit worried; crowds were common enough, but not in a secluded place like this. Something bad must have happened. He could hear various people muttering things like, "dead," "he must be dead," and that worried him. He pushed his way through the crowd to the front - and almost collapsed in a mixture of shock and relief. Because the beaten boy lying on the ground was none other than Jack Dawkins, otherwise known as The Artful Dodger.

Just the sight of him lying so still made Charley feel sick to his stomach. He momentarily thought of taking Dodger to the warehouse right then and there, but then he realised he didn't want to worsen Dodger's injuries, and he also realised that he couldn't possibly carry Dodger all the way back to Fagin's alone.

Pushing his way back through, he started to race home. He had to tell Fagin; the old man had been going out of his mind with worry ever since Dodger had been taken, as had he. But his thoughts of heading home were momentarily put on hold as he darted behind a tree to empty the contents of his stomach.

Wiping his mouth, coughing and shaking slightly, Charley raced back in the direction he came, desperate to get back to Fagin's, wondering how the elderly benefactor would handle the sight of Dodger lying severely beaten on the ground.

But even that wasn't the most horrific sight; because, yanked tightly around The Dodger's neck was a thin length of rope.

And the horror didn't end there; the other end of the rope, which trailed over his right shoulder and lay a few feet away, was tightly knotted around a large stick. A hand-made garrotte.

The Artful Dodger had been garrotted.

~ X ~

Another chapter finished. I bet you lot all hate me now, don't you?

Hope you like it, and please remember to review! They really make my day!


	17. Chapter 17

Hello, again! As promised, here's another chapter for you, and thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far! It makes me so happy to get them! And if you haven't, thank you for reading the story.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and "Thomas."

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 17

Fagin, a small group of about eight pickpockets, Bill and Nancy were all sat around a table. Bet had yet to arrive and it was assumed that she had been unable to leave the pub.

"Right, so you've searched Bishopsgate?" asked Fagin, and the boys nodded an affirmative. "Right, I want 'alf of ya to go back there and search it again today, and the other 'alf -" he was cut off by a harsh knock at the door.

"Plummy and slam!" cried a desperate voice. Nancy leapt up and opened the door, worried at the voice; it sounded so horrified.

Charley came rushing in, looking around for Fagin.

"FAGIN!" he yelled, in between gasps for breath.

"What is it, Charley?" asked the old man, standing up immediately and looking worried.

"I've found 'im! I've found Dodger!"

The reaction was immense. Fagin visibly sagged in relief, and for one moment, Charley was deathly afraid the old man was going to collapse; the boys all cheered and crowded around Charley, clapping him on the back, Nancy put her hand over her heart and only muttered "thank Gawd," looking absolutely relieved, but there wasn't any expression on Bill's face; but then again, there hardly ever was.

"Where is 'e, Charley? Why didn't ya bring 'im back with ya?" Fagin had noticed the horrified expression on the boy's face. "Why do ya look so frightened?" His face fell. Charley had come to bring him bad news, he knew it.

"I think 'e's..." Charley couldn't bring himself to say the words, but he had to. He swallowed hard. "I think 'e's _dead_, Fagin."

The whole room went deadly silent; you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone was looking at Charley, hoping he was playing some sort of sick joke. The Artful Dodger, _dead?_ It couldn't be. Those words didn't belong in the same sentence. Fagin started to walk slowly towards him and Charley panicked. "E - 'e's lyin' in the wood! With - with bruises all over 'im! And there's rope 'round 'is neck! Everyone's sayin' 'e's dead -"

"Where _is_ 'e, Charley?!" growled Fagin, grabbing the boy by his collar.

"I'll show you," he said, shaking himself free and running out of the door, Fagin at his heels. The other occupants in the house barely hesitated before following them.

Within minutes, they had reached the site, but nothing could prepare them for what they saw. Once again, the footpath was deserted and Charley led them to the place where Dodger lay.

Fagin stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the boy lying so still on the ground, as did the boys. Nancy fell back against Bill, covering her mouth with her hand, looking horrified.

"Oh, my Gawd," she breathed. Nobody else said anything. Bill stared at the Dodger, slightly raising an eyebrow. _''E was a good'un, that Dawkins,'_ Bill thought, still not taking his eyes off the motionless boy. _'But not good enough.'_

Silently, Fagin walked over to where Dodger was and fell to his knees, the anguish evident on his face. He eyed the bruises that dotted the young pickpocket's swollen face, the dried blood that trickled from his nose and mouth, the black eyes, the lacerated cheeks, and last but not least, the rope that was embedded deep in his neck. Fagin took Dodger's lifeless hand in his, shocked at how warm it still was, a single tear sliding down his cheek. Not wanting the others to see him cry, he wiped it away and leaned forward, gazing at Dodger. Another tear fell down his face; he didn't bother to wipe it away this time as he placed his other hand over Dodger's, carefully avoiding the rope which made the garrotte. Fagin couldn't help staring at it; his stomach twisted into a knot as he observed the stick which the end of the rope was knotted around. He looked over at Dodger again, biting his lip to keep in the sobs that were threatening to escape his throat. He lowered his head, still keeping his eyes on Dodger, and then he saw something that made him start.

The boy's chest moved.

Fagin didn't want to get his hopes up; it was probably the wind raising Dodger's coat, but he couldn't look away. Even though he knew it was impossible, seeing his chest move gave him new hope that Dodger might somehow still be alive. He stared at his chest, too afraid to blink in case he missed it, and it happened again! Dodger's chest rose and then fell ever so slightly. Fagin could barely see it; no wonder Charley thought he was dead.

"Oh, thank Gawd," he whispered, just loud enough so Nancy, Bill and the boys could hear him.

"Eh? What'chu on about, Fagin?" asked Nancy, wiping her wet eyes.

"'E's alive!" cried the old man happily.

"'Ow can 'e be? Look at 'im," said Nancy, gesturing to the boy.

"I know, but watch 'is chest!" He said eagerly, pointing to Dodger's chest and telling them all to look carefully. Everyone thought Fagin was making it up, because he couldn't accept that Dodger was gone. But they just didn't have the heart to crush the old man's spirit so they decided to humour him. They looked at Dodger's chest, not really expecting to see anything; they could hardly believe their eyes when they saw it rise and fall. The unconscious boy was immediately surrounded.

"Oh, my gawd!"

"'E _is_ alive!"

"It ain't possible! 'Ow can it be?"

"Who cares? E's alive!"

"It's a miracle!"

Fagin stopped the cheering children from getting too close to the seriously injured Dodger. He bent down and reached for the rope, but then stopped and pulled his hands away.

"The rope," he replied when questioned on why he stopped. "If it's pulled the wrong way, it could kill 'im." Fagin whispered the last two words just loud enough so everybody could hear and stood there for a moment, debating what to do. "Give me a knife, Bill," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"You 'eard me! A knife! I need a knife to cut the rope with!" Bill just stood there, his face expressionless, before wordlessly pulling out a small penknife out of his coat pocket and handing it to Fagin.

Fagin once again knelt over The Dodger, knife in hand. Since Dodger's head was already turned to the side, Fagin didn't have to move it, which he was glad of, as it probably would have caused breathing problems for Dodger. He held the knife tenderly next to the boy's bruised and purple neck, before slicing the rope several times until it loosened its grip, then he pulled it away. Dodger's back arched, and he immediately sucked in a huge gulp of air and coughed, continuing to do so until he was breathing somewhat normally, though he remained unconscious.

Fagin sighed in relief, before tenderly picking him up and beginning to carry him back home. Nancy, Bill and the boys walked behind Fagin, doing as he said and giving Dodger room to breathe.

They had to walk through town, and unknowingly, walked up to the crowd that had seen Dodger earlier.

"Have you decided on a final resting place, then?" asked one gentleman, as they again gathered around Dodger.

"Eh?" answered the confused old man, adjusting Dodger's slight weight in his arms.

"We are deeply sorry for your loss," crooned a young woman, patting Fagin on the shoulder.

"What do ya mean, me loss?" Fagin was getting agitated now.

"The child is dead, is he not?" the same woman asked, gesturing to Dodger.

"Dead? No, 'e's alive!"

"He is?"

"Yeah - wait a minute," said Fagin, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "'Ow do you lot know about this?"

"Oh, we saw him lying in the ditch, but a few hours ago," replied the woman casually.

"And ya just _left_ 'im there?" Fagin's voice grew dangerously low.

"Why should we not? He's not any of _our_ children."

"'E ain't mine neither, but that don't mean ya shoulda left 'im there to die!" Fagin was starting to scare not only the woman, but the entire crowd.

"We thought he was dead," piped up a voice, hidden in the crowd. "There was nothing that we could have done that would have helped."

"Except checkin' to make sure 'e really was dead!" The old man growled. He couldn't remember ever being this angry before. All these people in the crowd could have helped Dodger, and they just left him, simply because they didn't know him. "I checked, and saw 'e was still breathin'!"

"I must say, I do think it's miraculous that a child could survive that," chipped in another unknown voice.

"Well, I just got one thing to say to ya, the lot of ya: you nearly killed this kid. All ya 'ad to do was just check 'im; but ya didn't even do that. Ya just took one look, decided 'e was dead, and walked away; and all the while 'e was dyin'! If ya'd just 'elped 'im, 'e probably wouldn't be in the state 'e is now! If this kid dies, it'll be on all your 'ands; 'cos you all saw 'im and ya ignored 'im when 'e needed 'elp! I 'ope you lot are 'appy with yerselves," Fagin threw the crowd a disgusted look, before rushing to get Dodger home, his friends hurrying along in his wake.

The shocked crowd had no words to say to Fagin's heartfelt speech. They thought they were doing the right thing by leaving him there; they had thought he was dead, what were they to do? But now, secretly, they all wondered what the outcome would be if they had checked on him to see if he was alive. Nobody felt particularly happy knowing that if the child died, it would be because of them.

Fagin practically ran back home, desperate to start nursing Dodger back to health. He didn't know how he would begin to treat the boy's injuries; he decided he would just leave everything to Nancy; she always knew what to do, although as Dodger's injuries looked rather severe, he might have to call out a doctor.

He ascended the steps to his warehouse and waited impatiently for someone to unlock the door.

Charley opened the door and Fagin remembered that, in their haste to find Dodger, they had forgotten to lock the door. Ignoring this, he swept past him, gently laying the still unconscious Dodger on his bed. Grabbing another pillow from the next bed over, he eased it under Dodger's head, and covered him with an extra blanket.

Nancy sat down next to Dodger and started smoothing back his hair. He looked so different without his hat on, she thought randomly. She took up a cloth and dampened it in the barrel of water and gently started cleaning his face. Dodger was covered in such an alarming amount of dried blood, it was frightening. The dried blood was even in his hair and his brown locks were now clumped together. It would have to be washed when he woke up. Nancy felt afraid to clean his face; the boy looked so weak and injured she was afraid of hurting him even more. She decided to leave it until he was awake.

Needing to find out just how badly he'd been injured, she pulled the covers down, gently lifted up his waistcoat and shirt and gasped at what she saw; dozens of bruises, some green and brown, some purple, covered his abdomen and stomach. Peering closer, Nancy even found the imprint of a boot on his stomach. Replacing his clothing, she rolled up his sleeves. His left arm looked fine, though there was a long gash in his right arm and his knuckles were scraped and dotted with dried blood. Nancy decided, after feeling his bones, that Dodger had no broken bones. The most serious injury was to his neck. Nancy decided that a doctor might have to be called out. She would consult Fagin later.

"We can't do nothin' more for 'im until 'e wakes up," she told Fagin, pulling the blankets closer around Dodger. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Charley staring at both her and Dodger.

"Is 'e gonna live?" the boy whispered, his eyes wide.

"'Course. There's no reason fer 'im not to," she answered, smiling breezily, her voice covering up how she really felt. Charley didn't look convinced, though. The rest of the boys were just sat at the table silently, watching Nancy tend to Dodger.

As Fagin and Bill sat at the table together, Fagin called his little gang of pickpockets together;

"Now, you lot, go 'round up the others and tell 'em we've found Dodger and 'e's at 'ome." A flurry of answers accompanied the sounds of heavy footsteps before the door slammed shut. Only Charley remained.

"I wanna stay with Dodge," he insisted.

"Well," Fagin was about to give in when he saw the look on Nancy's face. "No! Go on, get out and spread the word!" he snapped, shooing Charley out of the door and slamming it behind him.

"Fagin," said Nancy in a low voice, after the boys had left. "'E looks pretty bad. I think we should get 'im a doctor." Fagin walked over to the boy and assessing his injuries just as Nancy had done, he stood back and pondered.

"Yeah, you're right. We can't just leave 'im like this. Would you get one, Nance?"

Nancy nodded and left the den. While she was gone, Fagin resumed her seat and stared at Dodger. Why would somebody do this to him? Dodger was no angel, that was for sure, but he didn't really deserve this, did he?

Nancy hurried down a not-well-known side alley, looking for the doctor's house. She knew him, had been to him before. When she reached, she rapped upon the door, praying, for Dodger's sake, that he would be home.

A middle-aged, plump man answered the door and looked her up and down.

"Yes, Nancy? What can I do for you? You don't look too bad this time."

"It ain't me, a young friend of mine needs your 'elp," she pleaded. "'E was kidnapped and we jus' found 'im today and 'e's been strangled and 'e's all bruised and bloody. 'E's only a kid. Can you come and take a look at 'im, please?"

"Alright. I can't ignore a child in need."

"Oh, thank you, doctor! 'Ere, it's this way."

Barely five minutes later, Nancy returned to the den, the doctor close on her heels.

"I understand it is a child I am 'ere to see?" he enquired, looking about the room. He looked at Nancy, who nodded and pointed to where Dodger lay. The doctor walked over to the boy and examined him. Both Fagin and Nancy stepped back and scrutinized the doctor's every move. "Somebody didn't like this child," the doctor muttered to himself.

He laid his hand on the boy's chest and checked his breathing. "Hm. Breathin' is very shallow; that'll be from the strangulation. How long ago did you find 'im?"

"About an hour ago," estimated Nancy.

"Whoever did this didn't 'ave enough time to kill 'im. 'E's only unconscious." He lifted up Dodger's shirt and gently felt around; looking up as the boy winced, even though he still remained comatose. "A few broken ribs there, some swellin' from all the bruisin', but that will go down in about a week or so." The doctor felt the boy's arms and legs. "No broken arms or legs, good. Those ribs will need time to 'eal, though. Couple of large bumps on 'is 'ead there, but nothing major.

"'Is nose is broken, but it's not dislocated, so it'll 'eal fine, but be careful 'e don't bump it. The most serious injury is to 'is neck, but it's not life-threatenin'.

"'E's a bit dehydrated and that might cause a few problems, but just make sure 'e drinks a lot. 'E just needs plenty of rest and is gonna 'ave trouble breathin' for a while. 'E'll most likely cough up some blood as well, but, as I said, as long as 'e rests, e'll be fine. When 'e comes to, let me know; I'd like to make sure 'e doesn't 'ave a concussion. If 'e 'asn't improved by the end of the week, let me know."

"Thank you, doctor," said Fagin gratefully, quite happily handing over a few coins for the doctor's pay. "Is there anything else we should know, or anything we should do?"

"Don't let 'im eat," said the doctor firmly. "'E's quite malnourished and if 'is kidnapper 'asn't fed 'im, which I think is the case, lettin' 'im eat will make 'im sick. Only give 'im little sips of milk or water until 'e can 'andle small amounts of food, like soup. Well, good day," said the doctor, tipping his hat and walking out.

"Nancy, my dear, would you mind goin' out and gettin' some milk?" Fagin enquired, sitting back down next to Dodger.

"Of course," she nodded, gathering up her shawl, taking one last look at the young pickpocket and headed out of the door.

~ X ~

Splitting up, the boys ran through the streets, searching for their friends. The first boy Charley recognised was an old member of Fagin's gang, Henry, who was searching behind the bins in a deserted alley.

"'Enry!" called Charley, running up to him. Henry immediately turned around, a hopeful look on his dirty face.

"Any news?" he asked anxiously. None of the boys' had had a reason to search the others out before, and so Henry was a little bit apprehensive as to what Charley was going to say.

"We've found Dodger and 'e's at 'ome," Charley explained breathlessly, "'elp me find the others and tell 'em, will ya?" Charley realised he was talking to thin air.

"Come on, then, mate!" Henry shouted, already running down the alley. Charley raced after him. "So, who found 'im then?" Henry asked, panting as both of the boys ran out into the street, weaving in and out of the crowds.

"I did," replied Charley breathlessly, spotting another one of Fagin's boys. "'Ey! Over 'ere! I saw a crowd and I pushed through and I saw Dodge jus' lyin' there, with-"

"'Ey, what's goin' on?" cried the boy, running up to them. It was Simon.

"We found Dodger," said Charley. "We need to find all the others; let's split up and we'll meet you outside Fagin's."

"Right," said Simon, sprinting off in the opposite direction.

Before they entered, Charley had told them how he had found Dodger, lying on the ground with a rope around his neck. All had assumed he was dead until Charley explained that he was sleeping inside.

Even after the rest of the gang swarmed in all at once, Dodger remained asleep in his bed. They flocked over to his bedside, horrified at the sight of the pickpocket.

"Oh, my Gawd!" breathed Ace. "Look at 'im!" The other boys said nothing; they just stood there, staring at his bruised and cut face. He looked so forlorn and fragile lying there in his bed, it was easy enough to imagine the rope that had been wound around his neck.

~ X ~

"Thomas" was pacing, angry and anxious; he had fled, to an abandoned house quite a way from Moorgate, when he'd heard footsteps. He had panicked, dropping the boy and running as fast as his legs would carry him. He had also reasoned that he couldn't be seen carrying an unconscious, battered child with a rope around his neck, especially now that more citizens were out and about by that time.

"The job was only half done," he muttered, his composure slipping by the second. "Not nearly enough time; I nowhere near could have killed him. I've got to finish the job and I will."

He decided to lay low for a little while, and then return to Moorgate when the area was likely to be empty. Dawkins was just another child; there was no reason for anybody who happened to see him to do anything except leave him there. And if the police happened to be called, then he would just have to get to the boy before they handed him over to the hospital.

"Thomas" ran his hand through his hair; this wasn't supposed to happen. His thirst for power had overtaken his mind; he had wanted to see the boy completely terrified of him, cowering under his gaze, and it had happened, it had just taken longer than he had expected.

He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been; he couldn't get found out, not after all this time; they just wouldn't understand. "Okay, calm down," Thomas" told himself, straightening up. "There's no need to worry; the boy won't go to the police, and even if he did, you've got nothing to worry about. You've done nothing wrong. There is no reason in the world for the police to arrest you."

"Thomas" knew he should have killed the boy quickly, no matter how strongly he'd had the urge to knock Dawkins down a peg or two, and he was severely regretting it.

~ X ~

Fagin and Nancy kept constant vigil over Dodger until his eyes fluttered open in the late hours of the evening. Where was he? Was this heaven? It couldn't be because he was in a lot of pain. His vision sharpened and he found he was in a badly lit room, with somebody leaning over him.

Coming to his senses, Dodger's hazel eyes snapped open and his hands immediately reached up to his neck, fingers grasping to get the non-existent rope off, before Fagin quickly stepped into action.

"It's all right, Dodger," Fagin soothed, holding the boy's hands down, keeping them away from his bruised neck. "You're safe now; you're 'ome."

Dodger stopped struggling and looked about him. It was true! He really was back home! He didn't know whether or not to believe his eyes.

"Fagin," he croaked, his voice sore as a result of his neck injuries and dehydration.

"Don't talk," advised Fagin, "don't wanna 'urt ya voice. Are you feeling okay, my dear?" The Dodger merely shrugged in response to this question and sat up gingerly, his eyes wandering around the room. He was home; he hardly dared believe it. But how? The last couple of hours of his life were hazy and he didn't remember what had happened all too well.

Nancy suddenly appeared next to him, holding a mug of milk. The boys' had been quite excited when they had discovered the several bottles of milk until Fagin had sharply informed them that it was all for Dodger.

The rest of Fagin's boys were sat at the table in the middle of the room, some playing poker and the others cheering their favourites on. Fagin had told them to leave Dodger alone until he was feeling better. They hadn't even realised he was awake yet; they were far too engrossed in their game.

"'Ere ya go, Dodge," smiled Nancy, holding the cup to his lips. Ordinarily, Dodger would have protested about being treated like a baby, but, naturally he wasn't feeling up to arguing, so he just accepted the drink. He reached out for the cup, only just realizing how thirsty he was, but he had trouble gripping the mug with his shaky hands, so Nancy kept one hand on it. He had only taken two blissful gulps, his eyes closed in contentment, before Nancy pulled the cup away and he couldn't help moaning a little bit in protest. Nancy looked sadly at him, before getting up and putting the cup away.

"Fagin," Dodger repeated, "'ow – 'ow did y-ya find me?" His voice a little bit clearer now, but it was still very croaky and hoarse and it kept cracking.

"Charley found ya, my dear," Fagin told him and a troubled look flashed in his eyes for a brief second; the image of Dodger unconscious with rope around his neck was an image he was certain that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

They boys had finally noticed he was awake and, all at once, they all came rushing over to him.

"How ya feelin', Dodge?!" cried Charley, overjoyed that his best friend was okay.

"Al – alright, I suppose," Dodger mumbled, shrugging.

"Why are ya so quiet?" asked Sam, one of the youngest pickpockets.

"Me throat's s-sore," Dodger said quietly.

"Ain't surprised," Charley muttered under his breath, eyeing Dodger's bruised neck.

"We thought ya were dead."

"Alright, you lot, leave 'im alone," ordered Fagin, pushing the boys away, as he resumed sitting next to Dodger's bed while Nancy started tenderly cleaning the boy's face with a damp rag. Dodger just sat there silently, playing with the edge of one of the blankets that covered him, occasionally scrunching up his face whenever she scrubbed at a stubborn patch of dried blood. Carefully avoiding his neck, she turned his head she that she could clean the other side of his face.

The Dodger's entire neck was swollen and purple, blue and red, with a thick ring of deep purple that travelled all the way around the middle of his neck; a mixture of the bruises, the rope and the lack of oxygen he had suffered. Long scratches lined his neck surrounding the rope. Dodger winced slightly as Nancy cleaned a particularly painful cut on his left cheek.

"Sorry, Dodge," she apologised, standing up and walking over to the nearby barrel of water so that she could wring the cloth out.

"Who did this to you?" Fagin leaned in close to Dodger, whispering in the boy's ear and Dodger looked up at Fagin.

"I don't know," he said slowly and quietly, staring straight at the old man. Fagin knew Dodger was in no fit state to talk about what had happened to him, but he just couldn't help himself. He wanted to find whoever hurt Dodger and make them pay. He wanted to make him regret ever laying a hand on Dodger.

"Don't ya even know what 'e looked like? Did ya see 'is face?" Fagin pressed.

"Oh, leave 'im be, Fagin," chimed in Nancy, reoccupying her previous seat next to Dodger and continuing to clean his face. "Let 'im get 'is rest. 'E'll tell ya when 'e feels like it. Won't ya, Dodge?" She turned her attention to the boy in question, who simply nodded his head, his eyes fixed on the wall ahead.

Fagin stood and as he passed Nancy, he muttered to her, "will you go and get the doctor back here, my dear?" so that Dodger couldn't hear him. Nancy nodded and continued to clean the boy's face; when she had finished, she stood and slipped out of the door.

Before long, Nancy returned once again with the doctor, and they both went straight to Dodger.

"'Ow are you feelin'?" he asked Dodger kindly, but the boy just looked up at him blankly. "I'm a doctor, Jack," he explained; Nancy had told him the boy's name, "and, if it's okay with you, I'd like to make sure you don't have a concussion." When Dodger did not answer, the doctor proceeded, "I'm going to move my finger around and I want you to follow it with your eyes without moving your 'ead. Can you do that?" Dodger remained silent and merely looked away to the end of the end of the bed. The doctor snapped his fingers and Dodger looked back at him. "I said, can you do that?" he repeated, and the boy nodded after a moment and the doctor started moving his hand about. "Very good," he said when he had finished. "Now, touch your nose with your right index finger," Dodger complied after pausing a moment. "Now do the same with your left." Dodger did so, not looking at the doctor. "Good. You don't appear to have a concussion. But your nose is broken, so make sure you don't knock it." Dodger continued to look him; he gave no sign that he was acknowledging the doctor's words. The doctor turned to Fagin and Nancy, "as I said; if 'e 'asn't improved by the end of the week, let me know." He tipped his hat, turned on his heel and left.

Dodger, suddenly very tired, laid back down on his bed and closed his eyes; within minutes he was asleep.

"Dodger..." Fagin began before he was hushed by Nancy.

"Let 'im be." Fagin nodded and they retreated to the table.

"So, what 'appened to 'im?" Henry asked the question that was on everybody's lips.

"'E was strangled," said Charley as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, I know _that, _but – but why?" No-one could think of a reasonable answer to that. The only people who would know would be Dodger and his kidnapper, and Dodger himself might not even know the real reason.

After a while, the boys went to bed, tired from the excitement of the day. One by one, they each fell asleep, all of them exhausted after the relief of finding Dodger after a very long and anxious search. Charley was immensely relieved and a grin slipped on his face as he climbed into his bed and fell asleep.

Fagin made his way over to the table where Nancy was sat, and it suddenly hit him...

"'E – 'e's back, Nance," he said almost disbelievingly. "'E's _back_."

"I know," she smiled. "I'm so 'appy."

"'E's back," Fagin repeated, as if the more he said it, the quicker it would sink in, that his pet/favourite was now home. "I can't believe 'e's actually 'ome."

"Nor can I," she agreed, her gaze falling on the boy. "I just can't believe what that bloke's done to 'im!" Fagin looked at Dodger again, his eyes lingering on the cuts and bruises on his face, and the badly bruised neck.

"I know. I 'ope 'e'll be okay."

"I'm sure 'e will be," Nancy assured him, although she wasn't so sure herself.

"Why did that bloke do this to 'im?!" Fagin burst out angrily.

"I don't know," said Nancy truthfully. "But let's not worry ourselves with that now, shall we?" She was always one to look on the bright side.

"This ain't over, is it?" Fagin asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's like Bill said; Dodger was kidnapped fer a reason, and that bloke is out there and we don't know who it is." Nancy looked over at Bill,who was sat opposite them, a half-full mug of gin in front of him. As usual, he looked bored.

"Do ya think 'e's gonna come back fer Dodge?" Nancy whispered.

"I don't know; maybe 'e thinks Dodge is dead," it was difficult for Fagin to say that word; he himself had thought Dodger was dead earlier in the day, and the thought of it still chilled him to the bone.

"Well, as soon as Dodger's better, 'e'll be able to tell us what that man looked like, and then... we'll go to the police," Nancy concluded.

"The police!" Fagin looked horrified. "I ain't told them we found Dodger yet! Well, we can't bring 'im to the station, that's for sure, not in the state 'e's in, and they definitely ain't comin' 'ere. We'll 'ave to wait."

"But what will ya say to the police?" asked Nancy. "Surely, they'll still be lookin' -"

"I'll think of somethin'," Fagin assured her.

"Well, I think it's time we 'eaded off," said Nancy, starting to rise.

"Oh, you're both more than welcome to stay tonight," Fagin offered, and Nancy looked at Dodger again. Now that he was back, she found she didn't want to leave.

"All right, we will. Thanks," Bill rolled his eyes, but he didn't say anything.

~ X ~

"Thomas" had returned to the wooded area a good few hours ago, expecting to find the boy there, and when he was nowhere to be found, his eyes narrowed. He guessed that one of the boy's family members had found him and had possibly brought him home or to a hospital. He decided to head back to their house and see if Dawkins was there; if he wasn't, he would check out the nearest hospital. Now he had another reason to silence the boy; he couldn't risk Dawkins talking to the police.

As the house loomed up in front of him, he quickly looked around before stealthily climbing the stairs. He crossed the bridge and approached the door, unaware that Fagin, Nancy and Bill were still awake.

Fagin, after having checked on Dodger, was just getting ready to climb into bed when he heard a rattling sound.

"What's that noise?" he asked, turning to face Nancy and Bill, who were also getting ready for bed.

"I don't know," said Nancy, tilting her head to the side. "It sounds like it's comin' from the front door." Fagin walked over the door, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the knob turn and the glint of a blade appearing in the crack.

Fagin drew back, silently melting into the shadows. Bill and Nancy remained where they were as the door was forced open once again and a man entered the threshold. Fagin knew instantly that it was Dodger's kidnapper, and although he still couldn't see his face clearly, he could see enough to determine that he had light hair that was slightly shorter than shoulder-length, thin lips, and to see that he looked like on ordinary man one would see everyday on the streets. The man was walking over to Dodger's bed and Fagin found that he was rooted to the spot. He turned his head and saw that Nancy and Bill were also staring at the man who was walking over to Dodger's bed, and Fagin's instincts kicked in. He strode after "Thomas", who by now had reached Dodger's bed, and pulled him away as hard as he could, causing "Thomas" to fall to the ground.

Nancy rushed over to Dodger's bed as Fagin tried to hold "Thomas" down, but he was no match for the younger, stronger man. "Thomas" shook him off and stood up.

Some of the boys' had woken up now, and "Thomas" darted across the room and out of the door. Fagin chased after him, but by the time he had gotten to the door, "Thomas" had disappeared. He closed the door in a daze, unable to believe what had just happened. What would have happened if he, Bill and Nancy had been asleep? He didn't want to think about it.

"What just 'appened?" demanded Ace, swinging his legs out of bed.

"I think we just met Dodger's kidnapper," Fagin told him.

"'E came back?" the boy asked disbelievingly. Some of the other boys' were fully awake now and were getting out of bed. Dodger remained asleep and Nancy was still perched on the edge of his bed.

"Yeah, and I got a better look at 'im this time; 'e had short, light brown 'air and thin lips."

"That's it? No definin' features?" asked Charley.

"No, 'e looks like an every-man. But if I saw 'im again, I'd recognise 'im. You lot," he addressed the boys', "be extra alert tomorrow; now that you've seen 'im, 'e might go after you as well. And, also, don't tell Dodger about this; 'e don't need to know." The boys' nodding, understanding that the last thing Dodger needed was more trauma.

"Oh! We've forgotten to tell Bet we've found Dodger!" cried Nancy.

"You're thinkin' about that now?!" snapped Fagin. After a moment, he sighed, "we'll tell 'er in the mornin', right now we've all got to get some sleep. I don't think that bloke will be comin' back 'ere any time soon, now that 'e knows we're on the lookout fer 'im. Now get to bed," he finished and the band of pickpockets' obeyed, each scrambling into their respective beds. Fagin was grumbling about having to buy, or rather steal, yet another lock for the front door and pushed a large barrel in front of it, hoping that at least if "Thomas" did decide to return, that they would be pre-warned.

As Fagin headed back to his bed, he glanced over at Dodger, who was still asleep. Nancy rose from the boy's bed as Fagin passed and made for her own.

Fagin noticed that he was still in possession of Dodger's beloved hat; he had been so sure that he was going to place it on Dodger's head the instant the boy returned, but of course, his hopes had faded by the day... He decided to give it back to Dodger tomorrow and climbed into bed, falling into a much more peaceful sleep than he had done for weeks.

~ X ~

There! I hope that was satisfying to all of you out there.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill Dodger off. He's back at Fagin's, he's alive, but it's not over yet.

I hoped you liked this, and please don't forget to review!


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